


Liasion

by M_A_C



Category: Blue Bloods (TV), Fifty Shades of Grey - All Media Types, Suits (TV)
Genre: Dominatrix, Gen, Illegal Activities, Lawyers, Multi, Submissive Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 56,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5450612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_A_C/pseuds/M_A_C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York’s top corporate lawyer, Thomas Reagan, is keeping many secrets from his blue blooded family. The first being his illegal arrangement with his a right-hand man, Mark Frasier, who isn’t actually a lawyer. The second being his other illegal arrangement with Bedelia Moore, a Madam he pays for submissive women. When he starts to develop feelings for his newest sub and the truth about Mark is threatened, Thomas’ shadowy life is on the edge of being exposed to the light. Coming from a family of cops, Thomas has one hell of a poker face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**HOTEL CARMILLA**

**ROOM 601**

**NIGHT**

         “I check.”

         Their weekly poker game had been going on for a couple hours. It usually consisted of various New York’s top echelon – Judges, District Attorneys, occasionally a Congressman or a Senator, sometimes the Mayor. Even Thomas’ father, the city’s Police Commissioner, would stop by. Yet, Thomas Reagan was the only non-elected, general population lawyer invited. Probably because he’s the best and they were _all_ his clients.

         Now the game was down to two – Thomas and Manhattan Circuit Judge Henry Corbett.

         “Raise, five thousand.” Judge Corbett pushed a substantial amount of chips past his glass of bourbon and into the pot at the center of the table. He sat back smugly in his seat.

         “I’m all in,” was all it took for Judge Corbett to sit up straight again; his smugness replaced with a steely poker face.  

         Taking a moment to assess Thomas, Judge Corbett threw down his cards – two queens. Thomas’ phone rings twice indicating a text message as he laying down his cards – two aces. He checks it as she casually sips his bourbon. Around him, his poker mates are grumbling and sighing and chuckling. Judge Corbett tossed his hands in the air, shaking his head.

 _"I need you_ ,” the text message read. It was from his partner, Haley Peters.

         Thomas put his phone in the inside pocket of his expensive suit jacket as he stood up. “You can pay me later, I’ve got to go.” He smiled at the various officials around him. “Gentlemen.”

         As Thomas is walking towards the door, a silent figured steps out of the shadowy corner and opens the door for him. It was Thomas’ bodyguard, Carson. He’s in his mid-thirties, all careful high-and-tight and stubble in a sharp dark suit and tie. His hazel eyes watched the crowd impassively. He’s taller than Thomas, standing at six-foot-three and muscular. They looked slightly strange standing beside each other. Thomas was six-foot with unruly black hair that curled slightly. He wore a white shirt, open at the collar, no tie, underneath a light grey jacket that matched his trousers.

         Outside of his family, Thomas trusted Carson explicitly. If there was one person in the entire world that knew everything about Thomas, it would be Carson. As dangerous as that was, Carson is loyal above and beyond the call of his duties.

         “Heading home, sir?” Carson asked when they were in the hallway.

         “Work.”

**PETERS/REAGAN & CLINE LAW FIRM**

**HALEY PETERS’ OFFICE**

            “I’m paying you millions and you’re telling me I’m going to get screwed?” Gerald Tate, their latest million dollar temper tantrum, was yelling loudly at Haley. Thomas could hear him coming up the corridor.

            “Haley, have I come at a bad time,” Thomas said sarcastically as he walked in. Carson stood outside the door, his back turned to them.

            Haley, behind her steely eyed poker face, was relieved to see Thomas. She doesn't like to seem weak and can appear cold-hearted, but only because of her struggle as an African-American woman to get to the top. She couldn’t be where she is today without knocking down the people who stand in her way. She doesn’t let many people into her life, but Thomas is grateful to be counted among them. He knows deep down she is a loving person.

            She’s gorgeous for her mid-forties, smooth skin and hardly a wrinkle. She stands at five-feet-ten, but adds a couple more inches in ever present heels to be on equal footing. Her black hair was sleek and straight, highlighted with caramel, and rolled down her back.

            “Reagan,” Gerald barked, turning to sink his teeth into Thomas as Haley handed him the folder. “If you’re the best this lemonade stand has to offer, where the hell have you been the last three hours?”

            “Well Gerald,” Thomas said, glancing through his folder, partially ignoring the angry man in front of him. He slowly paced around the couch Haley was sitting as he read. “As you should know by now, I specialize in troubled situations. And when I left here at seven p.m., this deal wasn’t in jeopardy. So I’m just trying to figure out what happened in the interim.”

            “We keep offering more money, they keep rejecting it. It’s last-minute bad faith bullshit.”

            Thomas stopped circling. “Says here that Cooper won’t be staying on as honorary Vice President.”

            “That’s right, I don’t want him around.”

            “He wouldn’t _be_ around.” Thomas said, looking up at the walking ego in front of him. “It’s an _honorary_ position.”

            “I don’t give a shit.”

            “Well, I think you do, because that’s what’s changed since I left.” Thomas closed the folder with an audible clap and dropped it on the coffee table beside him. “Which means it’s been you who’s been dealing the bad faith.”

            “Well, now that you’ve got a grasp on what’s happened in the Goddamn interim, what’re you going to do about it? Because he’d not getting that title.”

            “First off, I’m going to ask you not to take the Lord’s name in vain. At least while you’re speaking to me. Second, you’re going to clear this up for me.” He glanced at Haley, baffled. “We negotiated a deal that gave you everything you wanted, Mr. Cooper signed it, now it’s you who won’t close. Why? Because you want to take away the last shred of dignity Mr. Cooper has?”

            “Bingo.”

            “Well, that’s not going to happen.”

            “And why the hell not?”

            “Because I like Mr. Cooper, and _my_ firm doesn’t operate in bad faith.”

            “Oh, I see how it is,” Gerald stepped closer to Thomas, getting in his face to growl, “Instead of working Cooper, you’re working me. Well, why don’t you take your _pansy_ attitude back in there and make him sign my deal. Or else I’ll pay someone else your money to do what you obviously can’t.”

            Thomas chuckled. He stepped back and strolled to an arm chair across from Haley. “First of all Gerald, if you think anybody is going to touch this deal after your bad faith, you’re mistaken.” He took his time unbuttoning his suit jacket when he sat. “Second, the way our agreement works is the minute Cooper signed this deal, giving you everything you wanted, our fee was due and payable, which is why at 7:30, I received confirmation of a wire transfer from escrow indicating payment in full.”

As he spoke, he pulled a folded piece of paper out of his inside jacket pocket. He opened it up and held it out for Gerald to see. When Gerald didn’t move in for a closer look, Thomas folded it back up and placed it on the coffee table.

“So, I’d say the ball’s in your court,” Thomas stood up and walked menacingly up to Gerald, his tone dropping. “But the truth is, your balls are in my fist. Now, I apologize if that image is too _pansy_ for you, but I’m comfortable enough with my manhood to put it out there.” When Gerald continued to stand there silent, Thomas took another step forward. “Now get your ass in there and close the deal.”

            Gerald turned to Haley. “You gonna let him talk to me like that?”

            “Thomas speaks for _our_ firm,” She stood as well. “But since I’m just the pretty face…..” She let his words from their earlier argument come back to bite him.

            Gerald turned back to Thomas. Silently starring at him in disbelief. He stepped back and left the office. Carson opened the door and shut it behind him. Haley and Thomas watched silently and waited until he was safely around the corner to speak.

            Haley cleared his throat as she picked up the financial statement Thomas left on the coffee table. “We got paid before Gerald signed the deal?”

            “What are you talking about?” Thomas smiled when Haley opened the paper. “That’s a memo I sent out yesterday about a fire drill next Tuesday.”

            “Huh,” Haley continued to read.

            “You’re Blue Team Captain. You get to wear a fire hat.” He smiled cheekily at her. She rolled her eyes and swatted him with the memo.

**MANHATTAN BAR**

            Thomas and Haley sat across from each other in the bar across the street. Haley was sipping a cocktail while Thomas was on his second bourbon.

            “How did you know Gerald wouldn't look at that memo?”

            “Because a charging bull always looks at the red cape, not at the man with the sword.”

             Haley sipped her drink. “While you were out tonight, I set up a meeting for you and John Dockery next week.”

             “Dockery?” Thomas asked, confused. He laid his arm on the booth top behind him. “He's Scatton's biggest client.”

             “Not anymore,” she smiled. “He’s looking around. He plays tennis. Close him for us.”

             “Consider it done,” He held up his glass and the two clinked. “Cheers.”

             A new waitress at the bar came over with her try in hand. She smiled, giving Thomas a furtive look. “You two seem to be celebrating something.”

             “We are.” Haley gave Thomas a mischievous smile before turned to Lisa and raising her glass at Thomas. “You’re looking at the greatest closer the city’s ever seen.”

             “Closer, huh? Baseball?” She asked disbelieving, eyebrow raised, and on hip.

             “Attorney.” He sipped his bourbon. “I close situations for my firm.”

             “ _Our_ firm,” Haley gently scolded.

             “ _Our_ firm,’ Thomas corrected himself.

             “So you do it for the money?”

              “Truth be told, I do it for the children.” Thomas joked and Lisa laughed.

             She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Lisa.”

              “Thomas,” he smiled.

             “Well, Thomas, I don’t normally do this, but since you are celebrating,” She wrote something on her ticket pad. She ripped it off and tucked it into his jacket. She says with a coquettish look, as if offering more, “I get off at midnight.”

            As she left, Haley reached over and plucked the paper out of Thomas’ jacket before he could. She opened it and chuckled. “Name, number, and address.”

             Thomas downed his bourbon and stood up, buttoning his jacket. “Keep it. The girl’s your type, not mine.”

             He kissed her cheek and left Haley sipping her cocktail and toying with the waitress’ number.

 

           

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**APARTMENT OF THOMAS REAGAN**

**WEDNESDAY MORNING**

          The rain is messing up Thomas’ morning routine. Normally, he wakes up and go for a run before work, but seeing as he is in no mood to be rained on, that’s been canceled. Instead, he opted for the treadmill. He switched the TV on the news and stepped on.

          After a while of listen to the bad and the ugly of the city, his thoughts strayed to the day. Meetings and paperwork is all he can remember, although Julia should have scheduled a visit from Solomon later.

          Thomas need a challenge, something to get his blood boiling and his mind away from the hum-drum of work. He’s become complacent. Complacency is a very dangerous thing for him. Maybe he’ll call Amanda. They’ll do dinner later this week. She is always able to lull him out of a reprieve.

          Maybe he’ll call Amanda….

           With that thought, he hops off the treadmill, breathless and sweating. Six miles, not bad. He heads back to his bedroom for a shower. He glances out the window. It was still gloomy, but there were rays of sunshine peeking through. Perhaps today wasn’t going to be a terrible day after all.

**PETERS/REAGAN & CLINE**

**HALEY PETER’S OFFICE - 9:30am**

            Louis Stern stood angrily in Haley’s office, complaining to her back as she stared out the window, sipping tea, looking out over the city. As mornings go, Thomas never wanted to start them out with Louis first thing.

            Louis reminded Thomas of a rat….or at least Peter Pettigrew from the Harry Potter movies. A short man with small, black watery eyes and a pointed nose. He had a small mouth and large teeth. His hair was black, but it was cut close to his head to make up for his balding patch.

            “I’m not saying I haven’t been charmed by Thomas, but it’s just so patronizing when you have him handle my case without consulting. You’re pretty much saying he can certain things, important things, and I can’t. Haley, I could have handled Tate.”

            “And I disagreed.” Haley turned around to face Louis. She set her coffee cup and saucer on the edge of her desk.

            “May I ask why?”

            “Because,” Thomas said, stepping into the room. He had been content to linger in the doorway, watching Louis hang himself. “When you put two bullies in the same room, things generally don’t go well.”

            Thomas walked around Louis to the bar cart where Haley’s tea pot, cream, and sugar were. He poured himself a cup.

            “It’s nine thirty. Nice of you to show up two hours after _your firm_ opens for business.” Louis snidely said, not bothering to look at him. When he does, he rolls his eyes. “And I see that you’re also trying to look like a pimp.”

            Thomas glanced down at his suit – dark navy with pinstripes, with a bold, thick tie in the same navy color. He could see Haley pinching her lips to suppress a smile.

            “My bad, Louis, late night.” Once his cup was made, Thomas took it to stand beside her. “When I woke up, this was the suit your wife picked out for me.”

            “And that would be funny if I was married.”

            “Moving along,” Haley held up her hand to silence the two men. “Recruiting. Thomas, Julia scheduled yours for tomorrow. Mine, the day after.”

            “I thought we were hiring the Harvard Summer Associate douche?”

            “Perhaps if you listened to the phrasing of your question, you’ll come up with an answer.”

            “Haley, we need people who think on their feet,” Thomas unbuttoned his jacket and sat down on the couch. He crossed his legs to balance his tea cup on them. “Not another clone with a stick up their ass.”

            “So more like you?”

           “And less like Louis,” Thomas nodded.

           Louis sighed. “Thomas, the fact this firm only hires from Harvard gives us a cache that’s a little more valuable than hiring a kid from Rutgers.” Thomas stared blankly at him, pretending not to understanding. Finally, Louis yelled, exasperated, “You went to Harvard!”

            “I’m an exception. And there should be more like me, but _there aren’t_. That is the problem.”

            “Then find us another one.” Haley said calmly. She placed her tea cup on the bar cart.

            “Well, you’d have one if your brother hadn’t chickened out-”

             At the mention of Jamie, Thomas shot up. He got in Louis’s face, cup of tea wobbly placed on the coffee table. He was nose to nose with the rat-faced lawyer, staring him down coolly with as much contempt as he could show without physically hitting him.

            “Two hits, Louis.” Thomas warned. One hit to Louis, then Louis hitting the floor.

            “Enough,” Haley issued the warning this time. She placed her hand on Thomas’ arm, restraining him. “Your bickering gives me a headache. Apologize.”

            Louis fancied himself the bigger man. He took a breath and held out his hand to Thomas. “I apologize, Thomas. Coming from the family you do and having suffered the unimaginably loss you have, my insensitivity to your brother’s career choice was callous.”

           Thomas ignored the outstretched hand and instead buttoning his jacket.

            “I apologize, Louis.” He pulled out his phone and began texting. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to text your pretend wife-”

            Louis dropped his hand and turned to leave, shaking his head, muttering, “Unbelievable,” as he left. Haley crossed her arms and glared at him.

            “What?”

            “Why do you do that?”

            “I don’t like him. I want to fire him. But since we both have to sign off on pink slips, I figured if I make his life hell, he’ll just quit.” He picked up his drink and sipped. “Why won’t you sign off?”

            “His billables are among the highest of all the junior partners, he works night and day doing whatever is needed-”

            “By the book.”

            “He brings in _money_ , Thomas. _Lots_ of money. We can’t just summarily fire people because you don’t like them.”

            You don’t like him either.”

            “No one likes Louis. And that’s my point. If everyone could vote on firing, then Louis would be gone based solely upon his lack of popularity. This isn’t high school. He does good work and it’s valued.”

            Thomas was silent, swirling his tea around in the cup. “I’m still curbing his promotions.”

            Haley bit her cheek to keep from smiling. “As is your right.”

            “Good.” He put his cup on the bar cart and headed to the door. “And if you ever change your mind, I have a slip with Louis’ name all over it, ready and waiting, in my desk.”

**ERIN REAGAN’S APARTMENT**

**WEDNSDAY NIGHT**

            Thomas and his niece, Niki, were singing obnoxiously loud and off key to an Italian opera that came on his Pandora shuffle station. While stirring pots and flipping pans, they danced around the kitchen bellowing nonsense that might have been words.

            Erin had to stay late at the office and asked Thomas to pick up Niki from school. Erin didn’t ask him to babysit or make dinner, but Thomas only got to see Niki on Sundays. He liked spending one-on-one time with her. Her father’s an incredible ass-hat, so he felt the need to be a more…. _positive_ role model to her.

            Niki was setting the table for three while Thomas dished dinner on to plates when Erin unlocked the front door.

            “Nikki!” Erin called out

            “In here, Erin!” Thomas shouted back.

            “Tommy?” Erin asked, confused, as she walked into the kitchen. She placed her briefcase on the kitchen counter while she shook of her coat and placed it on the back of her chair. She smiled at the slight mess they made of her kitchen. “What is going on?”

            “Dinner,” Thomas kissed her cheek. He picked up two plates and walked around her to place them on the table. Niki followed with her own plate.

            Thomas held out Erin’s chair. Her smile widened. “This is a surprise.”

            “A nice surprise?” Niki asked.

            “Very.” She draped her napkin over her lap. “What are we having?”

            “Cheese tortellini alfredo and lemon chicken piccata,” Niki announced proudly.

            “Cannolis chilling in the fridge.”

            “Did you leave the gun?” Erin toyed. _The Godfather_ was Thomas’ all-time favorite movie. Humor sparked in his eyes. She chuckled. “Speaking of criminals, how’s your firm?”

            “Positively evil, thank you for asking. According to Haley, it’s my turn to pillage an orphanage for a sacrifice. Find myself a fresh, baby-faced lawyer and teach him my evil ways.”

            “Or her,” Niki pitched in. “You are an equal opportunist firm, Uncle Tommy.”

            “Or her,” Thomas nodded at Niki with a smile. “I’m interviewing tomorrow.”

            “Still picking from Harvard.”

            “Haley went to Harvard, I went to Harvard, nearly all our top earners went to Harvard….” Thomas shrugged.

            “You don’t seem to agree, Uncle Tommy.” Niki observed. “It’s your firm, too. Shouldn’t you have a say?”

            “I do have a say. Haley handles personnel and the….” Thomas mulled over his word choice.

            “The people portion?” Erin chuckled.

            “Apparently, people don’t like me unless they really need me.”

            “The bite to the bark,” Niki smiled, nodded. “Nice one, Uncle Tommy.”

            Thomas shook his head, joking. “Shame Jamie become a cop, he was my top choice to scoop up.”

            “Too bad Jamie has a soul.”

            “And Sydney?”

**LATER**

Erin was helping Thomas do the dishes and clean up the kitchen while Niki did her homework in her room.

            “Thank you, again, Thomas,” Erin said while scrubbing the baking dish. “For watching Niki and dinner tonight. It’s been a while since-”

            “Since you’ve had a moment to breath?”

            “Noticing, huh?”

            “You’re going through a rough divorce with a teenager.” He lowered his voice and leaned in. “You’re strong, Erin, you get that from mom. We all see it; most importantly, Niki sees it. At the end of the day, that’s all that matters.”

            Erin glanced sideways at her brother. “When did you get sweet?”

            “Only with you, sis.”


	3. Chapter 3

**CHILTON HOTEL, SUITE 2005**

**PARK AVENUE**

**THURSDAY**

            “Great, thanks,” Thomas said as he showed his thirteenth interviewee out the door. They shook hands and offered each other tight lipped smiles.

            He turned to his executive assistant and secretary, Julia Vicario. In Louboutin’s, she meets Thomas nearly eye-to-eye. Her black pencil dress had a notched neckline that showcased the diamond pendant Thomas had given her for her birthday a couple years ago. The dress was also one of Thomas’ favorites; it accented not only her lean, athletic build but also her curves. Her chestnut hair was curled and framed around her face.

Julia is one of the most formidable minds at Peters/Reagan & Cline. Extremely perceptive, armed with the knowledge of all the comings and goings at the firm and a razor sharp wit, Julia is admired and feared by both associates and partners alike, and she's not afraid to wield that power when it suits her needs.

            “Julia.” Her warm brown eyes looked up from the pile of applicant files she was going through. Her cheekbones stunned him every time. “We’re going to need to streamline this. Give each guy a hard time before you send them back. Give me a wink if they say something clever.”

Having been with Thomas since his two year stint in the D.A.'s office, Julia keeps the fine machinery of his life well-oiled and is privy to all his secrets – legal and illegal alike.

            “Okay.” She tapped her highlighter on the edge of the desk. Thomas turned his back to return to the conference room when Julia asked, “What’re you looking for?”

            “Another me,” Thomas said smugly.

           “Because that’s what we all need,” Julia muttered underneath her breath as she pulled up the next applicant file. She called him up to her desk.

            He was smug, like Thomas, but more pretentious and arrogant in the way he stood. He never made eye contact with Julia. Probably thought himself better than a secretary. He was blonde, which didn’t help his case in looking like a complete tool.

            “So, _Chip,_ ” Julia drawled indifferently. “What makes you think that I’m going to let the whitest man I have ever seen interview for our firm?”

            “B-Because I have an appointment.” He scoffed and unbuttoned his suit jacket. He shook his head, not believing Julia’s rudeness.

            “Hmmm,” She mussed. She clicked her pen and scrawled ‘jackass’ on a post-it note and stuck it on the file.

            Thomas walked out to greet Chip. He waved him into the room while to accepted the file from Julia. He raised his eyebrows eagerly.

            Julia mimed opening the file and mouthed, ‘No’. Thomas’ face fell briefly before putting on a reasonable façade for the interview.  

            The office door closed and Julia called up the next contestant. She immediately regretted it. A smooth-faced man-child approached, buttoning his cufflinks. His pointy face was that of a spoiled trust-fund kid.

            “Kid, what is wrong with you?” She put her hand over her heart dramatically. “You look like you’re eleven years old.”

            “I was late to puberty.”

            Julia grimaced and waved him back. Thomas once again stepped out of the office with the previous applicant to greet the new one.

            “Thomas Reagan,” he stuck his hand out. He put his arm around the new applicant and noticed he was a full foot shorter than himself.

            Thomas threw a glance to Julia over his shoulder. She dramatically shook her head no.

            It only took moments for Thomas to put this one in the ‘no’ pile. As he showed baby-face out, he glanced wearily at Julia and checked his watched.

            “How many more?”

            “Twenty.” She gestured to a stack of files on her desk.

            Thomas rolled his eyes. “Give me ten minutes, then send the next one in.”

            Thomas lazily strolled back into the office. He was making his way to the hidden minibar when his cell phone rang. It was the ridiculously flamboyant ringtone Niki programed into his phone as her I.D.

            “Niki, what’s wrong?”

_"Why do you think something is wrong?”_

            “You’re calling me in the middle of school hours. Unless you’re cutting class to call me in an emergency, which is perfectly fine and I’m hoping that isn’t the case. But then again, if you’re cutting class to call your favorite uncle, that’s perfectly fine too.”

            Niki chuckled. _“It’s my lunch period, Uncle Tommy. Are you really okay with me cutting class?”_

            “How can I answer this without getting in trouble with your mother?” That got another laugh out of her. “Not that I’m not delighted to hear your voice, I know you’re not spending your precious lunch hour to talk to me.”

           “ _Becky Muller_ ,” she sighed by way of aggravated explanation.

            “Ah, _that_ skank.” Thomas knew all about upperclassmen _Becky Muller._ He’s heard Niki’s many late-night phone call complaints about the girl. He wasn’t sure about the real nature of the mutual dislike, but he was always there for Niki to lend an ear.

           “ _Mhmm_.”

           “In that case, I’ll stay on the line. But if you want, I can be over there in twenty to kick her scrawny butt.”

_“You’d never hit a girl, Uncle Tommy. You’re too much of a gentleman. Don’t you have your Harvard interviews today?”_

           “I do, don’t I.” Thomas sounded disappointed.

_“How are they going? Find the right one yet?”_

           “Nowhere close. They’re all too baby-faced and innocent; not at all like me.”

_“Why don’t you just clone yourself?”_

           “Love to kiddo, but I think our family can only handle one of me.”

_“Good point.”_ On the other end of the line, Tomas heard the school bell ring, signaling the end of the lunch period _. “I gotta go, Uncle Tommy. Hope you find an evil minion. Love you!”_

           “Love you, too, sweetie. Trip Becky Muller for me.”

_“Good thing I know a great lawyer,”_ she joked before hanging up. Thomas smiled as he pocketed his phone. He checked his watch with a grimace. Outside the office, he heard Julia yell out,

            “Rick Sorkin!”

            She shouted the name a few more times before a tall, young man in an ill-fitting suit stumbled into the suite lobby carrying a banged-up briefcase. He was out of breath and coughed into the crook of his elbow.

            “Rick Sorkin?” Julia called out to him. The young man turned to her, momentarily stunned. He looked around for someone else answering to the name. “Mr. Sorkin, you are five minutes late. Is there a reason why I should let you in?”

            The young man stepped up to her, looking over his shoulder at the suite door. “Look, I’m just trying to ditch the cops. Okay? I really don’t care if you let me in or not.”

            Thomas walked back to the office, tapping his watch at Julia to signal getting the interviews back on track. She turned to him with a smile and winked. Thomas looked mildly impressed.

            “Mr. Reagan will be right with you,” Julia told the nervous Mr. Sorkin.

            “What?”

            “Can I get you anything? A water? Coffee?”

            “N-No….” Mr. Sorkin stuttered. He looked around, utterly confused on what was going on. He followed Julia into Thomas’ office anyway.

            The next candidate was tall and lanky, he might have been leanly built underneath the cheap suit he wore, with untidy bronze colored hair. He had a college-boyish charm. He was pale, probably meant he spent most of his time indoors. His brown eyes gave away his uneasy.

            “Ricky Sorkin,” the young man offered his hand to Thomas as he walked closer.

            “Thomas Regan.” They shook hands. Rick’s was slightly damp. “Nice to meet you. Why don’t you have a seat-”

            Thomas quickly patted Rick’s back to indicate the chair in front of his desk. When he did, Rick jostled the cheap briefcase. It opened with an audible _click_ and the contents tumbled out of the case and landed at the feet of Rick Sorkin - ten air-tight vacuum-sealed packages of marijuana.

            “Woah,” was all Thomas could think to say. He stood over the packages of drugs and casually glanced up at Rick. “What’s this?”

            For the next ten minutes, Marcus Frasier, a.k.a ‘Rick Sorkin’, told Thomas about his unusual morning. His friend, Trevor, hired him to play courier in Trevor’s stead. Mark agreed because his grandmother needed money to continue living in her assisted living facility; the kind of money Mark doesn’t have. The plan was simple, take the briefcase of drugs to suite 2412 and leave with an identical case full of money. Problem was the whole thing was a set up. Two men posing as a guest and a bellhop were waiting at suite 2410 fiddling with a keycard that was ‘malfunctioning’. Mark identified them as cops, asked one of the men for the time, and then left. Once he got to the stairwell, he ran. He noticed the firm’s sign in the lobby and thought to hide with a bunch of pompous wanna-be lawyers while the cops cleared out.

            “How’d you know they were cops?” Thomas ask, intrigued.

            “I read this novel in elementary school and it was exactly the same thing.”

            “You read a novel...in elementary school?”

            “What? I like to read.”

            “Then why'd you ask them what time it was?”

            “Throw 'em off. What kind of drug dealer asks a cop what time it is when he's got a briefcase full of pot, right?”

             “I should hire you.” Thomas shakes his head, smiling. “Geez, I'd give you the twenty-five grand as a signing bonus.”

             “I'll take it.” Marcus jumped at the offer.

             “Unfortunately, we only hire from Harvard. And you, not only did _not_ go to Harvard Law School, you haven't even gone to _any_ law school.”

             Marcus leaned forward in his chair, the briefcase of pot still in his lap. “What if I told you I consume knowledge like no one you've ever met _and_ I've actually passed the bar?”

             Thomas chuckled. “I'd say you're full of crap.”

            Marcus smiles and points to a book on Thomas’s desk. “That's a BarBri Legal Handbook right there, right? Open it up. Read me something. _Anything_.”

            Thomas took the man’s bet. He picked up the book, looking slightly intrigued, but also doubtful. He opens it up and starts reading.

            “Civil liability associated with agency is based on several factors, including-”

            _“Including_ the deviation of the agent from his path, the reasonable inference of agency on behalf of the plaintiff, and the nature of the damages themselves.” Marcus cut across Thomas and finished the rest of the lengthy sentence as if her were reading it over Thomas’s shoulder.

            Thomas slowly looked up from the legal handbook, shocked. “How did you know that?”

            “I learned it. When I studied. For the bar.”

            “Okay, hotshot. Fire up this laptop.”

            Thomas stood up and walked to the other side of the desk as Marcus got up and walked around the other side to sits in Thomas’s vacant chair. He started the laptop like Thomas had requested.

            “I'm gonna show you what a Harvard attorney can do. Pick a topic.”

            “Stock option backdating.”

            “Although backdating options is legal, violations arose related to disclosures under RIC section 409A.”

            After a moment, Marcus looked up. “You forgot about Sarbanes-Oxley.”

            “The statute of limitations render Sarbanes-Oxley mute post-2007.”

            “Well, not if you can find actions to cover up the violation as established in the Sixth Circuit May 2008.”

            Stumped, Thomas put his hand on the back of the wooden chair Marcus had sat in. “That's impressive, but you're sitting at a computer.”

            Marcus turned the computer around so that Thomas could see the screen. A game of solitaire was pulled up and Marcus was winning in good time.

            “Playing cards. Sorry, if you want to beat me, you're gonna have to do it at something else.”

            Marcus closed the computer with two fingers.

            “How can you know all that?”

            “I told you. I like to read. And once I read something, I understand it, and once I understand it, I never forget it.”

            “Why take the bar?”

            Marcus smiled. He shifted in the office chair so he could lean back comfortably. “This dickhead bet me I couldn't pass it without going to law school.”

            At first the kid had his curiosity, but know he had his attention. Unfortunately, that didn’t change anything – the kid wasn’t a lawyer. Non-lawyers practicing law was illegal. Thomas would get his license revoked and loose his firm, not to mention get them both thrown in jail. With the last name he carries, Thomas wouldn’t last long.

           “Okay, look,” Thomas sighed regrettably. “This is all pretty fascinating stuff but I'm afraid I gotta get back to work. I'll make sure Serpico isn't around, waiting for you.”

           Thomas opened the custard cream colored doors and stuck his head out into the lobby of the suite. Six Harvard Law graduates looked back at him with desperation and false confidence. Thomas was unexcited by what he saw. He turned to look back at Marcus.

           The man was fidgeting at the desk, looking down at the floor anxiously and biting the edge of his thumb. He didn’t look like much, but there was no way Thomas was going to find someone remotely close to the potential already sitting in the room.

           He wanted this guy at his firm; however, doing so would be crossing more legal lines than Thomas has ever crossed. He didn’t mind breaking the law every now and then, but this was a whole new ball park. If Thomas was going to do this, risking everything in the process, he needed to know more.

          He closed the doors behind him as he reentered the room.

          “If you want this job so much, why didn't you just go to law school?”

          “When I was in college, it was my dream to be a lawyer. I needed some money and Trevor convinced me to memorize this math test and sell it.” Marcus shook his head and chuckled darkly. “Turns out we sold it to the dean's daughter. I lost my scholarship, I got kicked out of school, I-” He took a deep breath. “I got knocked into a different life. And I have been wishing for a way back ever since.”

         “Let me tell you something. This isn't elementary school, this is hard work. Long hours. High pressure. I need a grown-ass man.”

         Marcus stands and pints to the door. “You give me this and I will work as hard as it takes to school those Harvard douches and become the best lawyer you have ever seen.’

         “I'm inclined to give you a shot but what if I decide to go another way?”

         “I'd say that's fair. Sometimes I like to hang out with people who aren't that bright. You know, just to see how the other half lives.”

         Thomas cracked a smile. He extended his hand over the desk. “Welcome to my law firm, Marcus Frasier.”

         Marcus was grinning ear to ear in disbelief. He shook Thomas’s hand enthusiastically.

         “Now move. I'm emailing my partner I just found our next associate. You’ll apprentice under me instead of a senior partner, understood?”

         Marcus moved backwards out of Thomas’s way as he retook his chair. Thomas opened the laptop and began typing an email as he spoke over his shoulder to Marcus.

         “Alright. You're gonna start a week from Monday, here's what you're gonna do. First, no more pot, we drug test. Flush it, stop smoking now, you'll be fine, I assume that's all the drugs you do.”

         “How do you know that?”

        “You read books, I read people. Potheads smoke pot, that's what they do.”

        That's not _all_ I do. I have interests.”

        “You're Albert Einstein and you couldn't manage to get into law school, you think that's not from smoking weed?”

        “Trevor got-”

        “That's another thing, you're never gonna talk to Trevor again. You're gonna ditch that briefcase and you're gonna get on a plane to Harvard and you're gonna learn everything there is about going to law school there.” He turned in his chair and looked Marcus up and down. “Did you buy that suit?”

        “Yeah…”

        “Let's buy some new ones.” He got up from his desk and buttoned his suit jacket. With a smile, he added, “Oh, and one more thing, how do you feel about the New York City Police Commissioner?”


	4. Chapter 4

**LOBBY OF PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**MONDAY**

With his bike hoisted on to his shoulder, Marcus Frasier climbed the ridiculous number of steps to reach the plaza that hosted Peters Reagan & Cline. A large building, all curved glass, steel, and stone easily mistaken for ivory. _Peters Reagan & Cline _was one of the firm names stenciled prominently in black in stone above the glass doors, the only marker for this building.

Men in tailored business suits, no doubt carrying concealed weapons underneath their black jackets, flanked the glass double doors inside. When he approached, the doorman on the left opened the door for him.

The enormously intimidating lobby was like the outside – glass, steel, and ivory. In the forward center was metal and glass-detailed front desk. There was a man from security, identical to the two men at the door, standing behind the receptionist. Behind the desk were two elevator terminals divided by a white stone wall.

“Hi,” Marcus nervously went up to the front desk. “Which floor is Peters Reagan and Cline?”

“Three elevators belong to one of the four companies. PRC’s elevators are in terminal two on your right, bays four through six. Their elevators will only go up to their offices.”

“And, uh, what floor would Thomas Reagan would be on?”

“That would be the seventh floor,” the receptionist said slowly. Marcus could tell she probably thought his slow or on drugs.

“Uh, thank you.” Marcus taps the desk as he leaves.

The security guard eyes Marcus suspiciously as he goes to the second terminal. There were six elevators total – the three elevators on the left had the numbers one, two, and three stenciled in the black stone above them. The same with the three on the right, except with the numbers four, five, and six. Marcus selected elevator four.

Almost immediately, the steel doors opened. Marcus stepped in. On the button console, only floors five through seven. He pressed the button for the seventh floor and watched it glow pale yellow. Within seconds, the screen above the buttons that indicated the floor began to beep.

“Here goes nothing….” Marcus sighed. He adjusted the leather briefcase/satchel bag strap on his shoulder and walked out.

Déjà vu hit him like a freight train. The lobby of Peters Reagan & Cline was nearly identical to that of the lobby he had just come from. The identifying characteristic of the floor was the firm’s name in large steel mounted to the wall greeting employees and clients as they exited the elevators.

There was nothing to the right of the elevators except a stone wall. To the left was the entrance of the firm. Marcus walked towards the reception desk. Behind it was a very attractive, well groomed, blonde receptionist who smiled pleasantly at Marcus as she approached. The stainless-steal name plate at the desk said her name was Olivia Peirce.

“Welcome to Peters Reagan and Cline. How may I help you?”

“I’m Marcus Frasier, Thomas Reagan’s new associate,” he said as more of a question than statement.

“I’ll let him know you’re here. Please,” Olivia gestured to the sitting area to the right of reception. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Marcus returned her easy smile.

He walked over to the seating area, cream couches with dark wooden accents. There were already two men in the lounge, both in an arm chair, both reading the paper. He was going to take a seat on the large couch opposite them but then spotted the view out of the floor-to-ceiling window. It captured the beautiful New York skyline and sported a nice view of Central Park. He peered down at the deadly drop.

A woman approached him from behind, calling out his name, “Marcus Frasier?

From her smooth as honey voice, he could tell she was French. He turned, not at all regretting it. She stood nearly at eye-height with him in her black Louboutin heels with the red underneath. She was athletically slender with an acceptable bust that men had no problem with. Her face was oval shaped and beautiful in the extreme, her every feature was finely chiseled and delicate. Her eyes were tawny brown. Her head was overcome by a mass of hickory brown hair, cut short to her sharp collar bones, waving and caught loosely behind her ear. Her skin was fair against the crimson glow of her cheeks and the ruby of her beautiful lips that shone with a strangely enhancing effect.

She shook Marcus’ hand. “’ello. I am Delphine Laurent, I will be giving your orientation.”

“Wow,” Marcus let slip in a sigh. “You're pretty.”

“Good.” She gave him a patronizing smile. “You ‘ave ‘it on me. We can get it out of ze way that I am not interested.”

“I'm sorry, I-I wasn't hitting on you-” Marcus tried to recover, but Delphine wouldn’t allow him to.

“Trust me. I ‘ave given dozens of zese and, without fail, whatever new _‘otshot_ it is zinks that because I am just a paralegal or zat I am French, zat I will some’ow be blown away by ‘is dazzling degree.” She leaned in misleadingly close to whisper, “Let me assure you, I will not.”

“I was.” Marcus admitted after a moment. “I was hitting on you.”

“You were” She hands Marcus a notepad and pen. “Take notes, I am not going to repeat myself.”

As he walked away, Marcus stared longingly after her. He whispered under his breath, “I love you.”

**LATER**

Delphine leads Marcus down one of the main corridors during the tour, walking and talking as Marcus lags a little behind her. Around them, people were flowing busily in and out of offices and desks, talking to one another and swapping paperwork.

“Ze firm operates on a chain of command model. Monsieur Reagan is your commanding officer; ‘owever, Louis Stern oversees all associates so you will also answer to ‘im.”

“Thomas-”

“Monsieur Reagan.” Delphine cut across him, holding up her finger.

“What do you think about Mr. Reagan?”

“People are in awe of ‘im. Zey say ee is the best closer zere is. A kind man.” She looks away, a slight blush creeping unconsciously into her cheeks. This draws Marcus’ curiosity. “But I ‘ave very little contact with ‘im so I do not know.”

“What about Louis Stern?”

“If you do not pray already, Monsieur Frasier, you ‘ad better start now.”

**CORRIDOR**

Thomas walked down a busy corridor at Peters Reagan and Cline toward his corner office, briefcase in one hand, phone in the other.

“Hey, Becky. You are glowing.” He smiled cheerfully at a pregnant associate as he walked by. “How’s the pregnancy?”

“Almost there, Mr. Reagan.” She smiled back, her hand fondly resting on her large stomach.

“Give Jimmy my best.”

“I will.”

He passes Julia Vicario’s empty desk, usually she’s here before Thomas collecting water cooler gossip. Looking beyond her desk to the door of his office, he saw one of his janitors, Hector, scraping Thomas’ name off of his door, leaving only Peters & Cline spaced heavily apart. He had already scraped ‘Founding’ beside Partner underneath the firm’s name.,

“Hector.” Thomas tried sounding as calm as he could, “what are you doing?”

“I got a work order to take it off, Mr. Reagan.” He replied in a thick Jersey accent.

“Who issued the work order?”

“My supervisor, Mr. Reagan.”

“Why did he issue the work order?”

Hector chuckled. “If I knew that, I'd be his supervisor, Mr. Reagan.”

“Julia!” Thomas yelled over his shoulder. He sipped his coffee and watched Hector work with a smile. “You seem to be enjoying yourself, Hector.”

“I haven't enjoyed myself since 2004.” Hector looked over his shoulder; catching the disapproving face from Thomas, he dropped his smile. “Sorry, Mr. Reagan.”

He turned and saw Julia walking quickly toward him. As fast as she could in heels. Her chestnut hair was Swiss braided into a crown circling her head. Twisted tendrils hung around her face.

“Someone's trying to have a little fun-”

“Haley wants to see you in her office.” Her brown eyes no longer warm as she took his briefcase. She whispered, “Now!”

**ASSOCIATES CUBICLE**

            Delphine lead Marcus into an office filled with cubicles. She stopped at the third one on the first row and tapped it.

“And, finally, _zis_ is where you will live.”

            Marcus entered his cubicle, chuckling. “Wow.”

Delphine eyes the notepad she had given him at the beginning of the tour. It was blank. “I gave you zat for a reason, you ‘ave not taken one note.”

“It's because-“

“Because you were too busy oggling me to listen to a word I ‘ave said?”

Marcus laughs, a smug smile crossing his face. “Partner's offices anchor the wings. 5th floor's security, 6th is research.” He took off his satchel and placed it gently in his chair. “All work gets billed, even if it's finding an address. I answer to Thomas – excuse me, Mr. Reagan – and Louis Stern. Judging by the way you responded to my questions, I should admire Mr. Reagan and I should fear Mr. Stern.”

Marcus sat on his desk, leaning in to where Delphine rested her arms against the tops of his cubicle. “You have been here for 5 years and just because I outrank you, does not mean I have the authority to command your services.”

Delphine laughs nervously and annoyed, glancing away.

“Oh” Marcus continued, “it's also pretty clear that you think you're too smart to be a paralegal.”

“You know what nobody likes? Nobody likes a showoff.”

“You used the word oggling, I mean-” Delphine turned on her heel and left, the smallest of smiles on her lips, “Uh, when do I get to see Thomas?”

**OFFICE OF HALEY PETERS**

Thomas stood in front of Haley, who sat is sitting behind her desk in her office looking through a book, like an adolescent school boy being reprimanded.

Her office was a mix of minimalistic style with Mad Men décor – leathers and vibrant colors with straight edges of metal and glass. Where all the walls in her office were heather grey, the wall behind her desk was a royal blue. There, hung photos of Haley with various prominent people, and at the center of the collage was a photo of Haley and her daughter, Jada.

“Is there a reason you want me to stand here like an idiot?”

“That’s because you are an idiot.” She glanced up from her book. “Gerald Tate fired the firm this morning.”

“How come I’m just know finding out about this?”

“Because he called me. Directly. Everything has already been finalized.”

**“** So you're kicking me out of my firm? Over the loss of one client?”

**“** No, Thomas. Being the _drama queen_ you are, I though a little dramatics would get your attention. And it looks like it worked.” She puts her book down with an aggravated sigh. “You know, most firms would put you in front of the bar and have your license stripped. You lied to a client and he figured it out.”

“I lied to him to get him to do the right thing and honor his fucking contract,” He gestured to her as he sat down in a royal blue chair that winged the front of her desk. “And you didn't seem to mind so much when you thought I got away with it.”

“But you didn't get away with it. You lost a huge a client today, Tom!”

Thomas was becoming agitated. “One client does not make a firm.”

“No, but it could break one. I don't know if you've noticed, but we're in the middle of an economic meltdown. Companies aren't exactly lining up to spend money on attorneys right now.” Thomas looked away from her, shaking his head, to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central park that took up an entire wall. “And, you know, Gerald might have forgiven the lying had you not _humiliated_ him, but you did and you need to accept that.”

Haley softened her voice. “If I hadn't done as much for you as I have, I'd be throwing you out the window.”

“Those windows are suicide proof.” Thomas quipped as he got out of the chair to leave. He made it to the all glass wall that looked out at the hallway, his hand on the meatal pull, when she added,

“No more shenanigans. If you do one more thing that isn't straight as an arrow, and instead of covering your ass, I'll put you in front of the bar and the ethics board myself.”

“No you won’t, Haley.”

“And why not? “

Thomas turned and marched back in front of Haley’s desk. This time, he no longer felt or looked like the scolded schoolboy. “Because you are obligated to notify them the _second_ I lied to Gerald but you didn't. You put me in front of the board right now, I'll put you right up there with me.”

Haley sighs, thinking. She bites the inside of her lip to keep from smilling. No matter how much Thomas pissed her off, she would always think the world of him and his skills to close a situation…even if _she_ was the situation.

“Fine, but I want my back scratched.” She picks out a file from a pile of on her desk. “Pro bono.”

Thomas stepped back, trying to keep his distance from the charity rabbit hole. His sister was the lawyer all about charity, not him.

“Anything but that, Haley.”

“Thomas, pro bono cases are _we_ , as a firm, show that we care about more than just ourselves.”

“I'm not saying we shouldn't do them. I'm saying I don’t do them. We agreed on this when we started this firm. I don’t do free-bees.”

“And it's how _you_ can show _me_ that you care about more than just yourself.” Receiving no argument from him, she tossed him the file. “You'll handle this yourself, you will not pass it off.”

Thomas begrudgingly caught the file. He was nearly out the door again, when Haley had to put in the final word. “Point is, I’m done risking _our_ firm. I’m not your mother, I’m not your boss. I’m your Goddamn partner.”

Thomas, with his back still to Haley, held up his finger in warning. “Lord’s name, Haley.”

            Thomas left to the silent incredulous glare Haley shot him.

**OFFICE OF THOMAS REAGAN**

Thomas entered his office, still agitated from his ‘talk’ with Haley. Whereas Haley’s office was minimalisticly Mad Men, Thomas’s office was all Mad Men with a hint of modern.

His office was the largest, aside from Haley’s, offering a gracious amount of room in the open space. The corner walls were floor-to-ceiling windows allowing him to see the sprawling city rather than the park. He and Haley had no problems picking offices based on the views. Like all offices in the building, the wall facing the hallway was glass windows as well, along with a glass door with a metal pull. Haley, who Thomas mistakenly agreed to take over decorating, thought it boosted the modern open workspace while still keeping everything private and separate. Thomas hated it; he couldn’t even add curtain, something to do with being a fire hazard.

Whatever walls were not glass or windows, were dark cedar wood paneled. To the left, was a black class oval table with four black leather chairs; behind that hung Heather Millar's hand painted ‘ _Listen Closely’_ on the wall above his black Pro-Ject RPM 1 Carbon vinyl record player and sound system.

In the center of the room, close to the window, was Thomas’s desk – black glass and stainless steel, two black leather arm chairs winging the front, two signed Yankees baseballs in glass cases displayed prominently. To the right of his desk was a black leather chaise lounge chair. Beside the chair, against the window, were several autographed basketballs from his favorite players were on a wooden stand.

On the right wall was a giant black bookcase that stretched to the ceiling, filled with vinyl records and the occasional case file Thomas thought worth keeping around. A black leather couch, deceptively more comfortable than it appeared, was in front of the case; two more black leather arm chairs winged either edge of the glass and cedar wood coffee table.

“Marcus,” Thomas said as he entered his office, startling the young associate fiddling with Thomas’s record player.

“Hey,” Marcus pretended that he wasn’t caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He clapped his hands and smiled. “Who's ready for a great first day?”

“Shut up.”

“What?” Marcus’s smile falters.

Thomas waved Marcus down with the file in his hand. He walked to the window with his other hand in his pocket, thinking. After a silent moment, he said, “I'm gonna have to let you go.”

“What?” This time, the smile fell completely.

Thomas doesn’t hear him. In awkward, and potentially illegal, situations, he sometimes thought out loud before he could catch himself. He ignored Marcus as he stared out the window.

“I’m on thin legal ice with my partner for lying to a client and then loosing said client. If she finds out that I lied about you going to Harvard, there is no doubt in my mind that she will personally take away my license before throwing me out a window. Suicide proof or not.”

Through the intercom on Thomas’s desk, Julia’s shrieking voice came through loud and clear, breaking Thomas out of his head. “ _You what?”_

“Not now, Julia.” He shouted towards his desk before turning to give Julia a look to back off through his office window. He turned to Marcus, but continued to think out loud. “I do this, fire you, I’m putting my own ass above yours.” He cocked is head to the side, a thought coming to him. “Although….”

“Although….” Marcus repeated, hoping to like the sound of whatever came out of Thomas’s mouth.

“If you stay, then Haley and the Bar _might_ find out that I lied about you and I'll lose my license,” Thomas sat on the edge of his desk, “but if I fire you, then you could tell them that I lied about you and I'd _definitely_ lose my license.”

Marcus slowly began piecing together Thomas’s thoughts. “So what you’re saying is that if you throw me under the bus, I’m gonna drag you with you?”

Marcus nervously, an a tad awkwardly, walked over to Thomas’s desk. “Well….if you put your ass above mine, I-I'm gonna put mine back up next to yours.”

Those were the magic words Thomas needed to here. Marcus was just what he was looking for – someone like Thomas. Their little tit-for-tat resembled the conversation Thomas had just left with Haley.

“You're re-hired.” Thomas tosses Marcus the file in his hand. “Your first case.”

“Awesome. What is it?”

“Pro bono. Sexual harassment.” Marcus opened the file and began reading. “Don't tell anyone I laid it off on you and _don't_ screw it up.”

“Got it. You can't handle it?” Marcus gave Thomas a cheeky smile. “I'll knock it out of the park.”

“Easy, Clarence Thomas,” Thomas got up off the edge of his desk. “Just go meet the client.”

            As Marcus was leaving, he stopped at the door and turned back to Thomas. “So, you fired me then re-hired me based on a hypothetical theory you talked yourself into and then out of? Should I be worried that happens a lot or was that just a one off?”

Thomas ignored his question, glaring disapprovingly at Marcus’s attire. It looked cheap, and the skinny tie was awful. “Didn't I tell you to get some better suits?

“I spent $500.”

“For how many suits?”

“Five….” Thomas shook his head. “What?”

**CENTRAL PARK**

Marcus spotted his client on a park picnic table, her lunch and a good book in front of her. She was pretty in a demure sense – mousey brown hair, light eyes, long grey sweater covering her maroon tee, faded jeans and sneaker. Occasionally, she looked up at the playground she sat across from.

“Nancy?” Marcus asked as he walked up, guided his bike beside him.

Nancy looked up from her book and smiled, stunned by the man in front of her. “Marcus?”

“Yeah, hi.” Marcus leaned his bike against the bench before sitting, pulling his satchel over his shoulder to lay it on the table.

“You're a kid,” Nancy chuckled.

“No, I'm a,” Marcus cleared his throat. “I'm a grown man.”

“You're so skinny.” She slid half of her ham sandwich over to him. “Have some food.”

“Thank you.” Marcus asked, politely accepting. “Why don't you tell me your story?”

“It started two years ago. I was a stay-at-home mom to my son, Freddy.” She pointed behind Marcus over to a young boy on a scooter. “And one day we were at little league, Freddy was 5, he really hated that he couldn't play with the older kids. It was the 3rd inning and I got a phone call. My husband had been in a car accident…and he was _gone_. Just like that.”

“I'm so sorry.” And Marcus genuinely was. He’s experienced loss like that before and was no stranger to the grief.

Nancy nodded, acknowledging his condolences. “I did the best I could. I got myself a job as a secretary at Devlin McGregor, and I even got promoted to secretary of the president, Charles Hunt.” Her face shifted, becoming more withdrawn. “And that's when it all changed.”

“It's okay,” he gently prompted her. “You tell me what happened.”

“He started asking me to stay late, ordering dinners together. Stuff like that. One night he says that if I _sleep_ with him, he's gonna take care of me in the firm; and if I don't…he's gonna fire me.”

“So what did you do?”

“I went to human resources! They said they investigated,” she waved her hand, frustrated with the company, “couldn't find anything to support my claim. 2 months later, I was fired for poor job performance. They wouldn't let me say goodbye to anybody, they wouldn't write me a letter of recommendation. I wasn't looking for a payoff. All I wanted was for it to stop. Can you help me?”

“Yes.” Marcus reached out his hand, and covered hers comfortingly. “Yes, I can.”

**HOTDOG STAND**

**OUTSIDE PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

Marcus and Thomas are at a hotdog stand in the plaza outside their building. Thomas was walking away, hotdog smothered in relish in one hand, napkin in the other. Marcus was at the front of the hot dog line, trying to order.

“What do you need my help for?” Thomas asked.

“Wait, can I just-” Marcus was torn between the hot dog stand, the line backing up behind him, and Thomas.

“No,” Thomas continued to walk off. “Give me the update.”

Marcus starts following, holding a file and, sadly, no hotdog as they walk down a very busy street.

“Er, you know, she's a nice woman, she-”

“On the case.” Thomas spoke around a mouthful of food. “I don't get emotionally attached to clients.”

“This woman had her life ripped apart, you don't even care?”

“I'm not about caring, I'm about winning.”

“Why can't you be about both?”

“I'd explain it to you but then I'd have to care about you.” Thomas offered Marcus a cheeky smile, his cheek bulging like a chipmunk from the hot dog he was chewing.

“Right.” Marcus goes to check his bike lock as he and Thomas walk past it.

“What are you doing?” Thomas said, waving his hand at Marcus to stop before he could touch the bike chained an aesthetic cube. “Don't touch that.”

“I'm just checking my lock.”

“You ride your bike to-” He gestured to their office building behind them, then dropped his hand, taken aback. “It's locked, okay? Come on.”

Thomas turns to walk inside, Marcus quickly, sneakily checks his bike lock and follows behind. The men in black suits opened the doors for both of them.

“Defense sent over the investigation files as a courtesy.” Marcus continued with the update. As they passed the receptionist, they both fished out their firm I.D badges and handed them over.

As the receptionist scanned them in, Thomas said,

“No, they didn't. Nobody does anything as a courtesy.”

The receptionist hands Thomas and Marcus their I.D cards back. She flashes Thomas a shy smile, gazing up at him under her false lashes. Thomas politely returns the smile.

“They sent those files because that's where they want you to look.” Thomas continued as he led them to their elevator terminal. “Listen, being a lawyer is like being a doctor.”

“You mean how you don't get emotional about the client? “

“No, I mean you keep pressing until it hurts. Then you know where to look.” Thomas stopped in front of bay four and hit the ‘up’ button several times as he spoke. “Forget about impeaching the investigation, it won't lead anywhere; no employee's gonna testify against their own CEO.”

“Okay. So what do you suggest I do?”

“Think. If this guy's done this once-”

“He's done it before.”

“And if the people who work for him _now_ won't testify against him-”

“Someone who used to work for him might.”

“Stop interrupting me.” Thomas hits the elevator button again. “Subpoena personnel records of every woman who's left the firm during this guy's tenure.”

“Funny, that's exactly what I thought.”

Thomas looks up from his phone when the elevator doors opened. “Then what do you need my help for?”

Marcus holds out a pink subpoena form. “I don't know how to fill out a subpoena.”

Thomas turned and entered the elevator, Marcus followed.

**JULIA VICARIO’S DESK**

Julia stood with Thomas by her desk, going over his schedule in her open binder. As they spoke, Marcus popped his head in between them.

“Julia, can you show me how to fill out a subpoena?”

“Absolutely,” She turned to him with a sweetheart smile. “And after that you want me to show you how to wipe your ass?”

“It's funny 'cause you should already know how to do both those things.”

“Ah, yeah, that's hilarious.” Marcus chuckled sarcastically. Julia took out a business card and handed it to him. He took it, looking down at it curiously. “What's that?”

“That's my suit guy.” Thomas pointed to the card with his phone. “Go in, tell him I sent you and spend some money.”

“What does it matter how much money I spend on suits?”

Thomas was signing papers, Julia flipping the pages for him. Thomas glanced up at Marcus. “People respond to how we're dressed so, like it or not, this is what you have to do.”

“That's weird.” Marcus slipped the card into his inner jacket pocket. “You giving me advice. Sounds like you actually _care_ about me.

Thomas caught the smirk Julia was trying to hide. He gave her a disapproving look. “I don't. You're a reflection of me and I _absolutely_ care about me so get your skinny tie out of my face and get to work.”

Marcus pulls a stern face, wanting to say something back, but he leaves to go back to his cubicle. Julia watches him leave, automatically turning the pages of her binder once Thomas was done signing.

“That was a little harsh.”

Thomas looks up. He sees how serious she was being. “Really?”

“Yeah, Tommy.” She snapped her binder close.

**ASSOCIATES CUBICLES**

Marcus was leaving his cubicle, slinging his bag over his shoulder, when Delphine walked up behind him.

“Marcus.” She called, causing him to stop just outside his cubicle. “Where are you going?”

“Um,” Marcus smiled, gesturing to the wall clock. “It's 6:30, I'm going home.”

Delphine laughs, “You are a rookie associate. If you go ‘ome before nine on your first week, you are not going make it zrough your first month.” Delphine begins to walk away. “And Louis Stern wants to see you.”

“Hey,” Marcus reaches out and catches her arm. He immediately lets go when she turns. “Can I ask you something?” He holds up his skinny blue tie. “This tie-”

Delphine nods, whispering, “Too skinny.”

“Man...” Marcus sighed, tilting his head back. He shook his head and dumped his bag back down in his cubicle and walks away.

**OFFICE OF LOUIS STERN**

Louis sat at the small conference table smiling, staring at Marcus for an uncomfortable amount of time while Marcus sat the other side of the table.

Finally, Louis spoke, breaking the silence. “I know you had orientation from Delphine but... I wanted to give you a special welcome from me. Amongst other things, I'm sort of the disciplinarian of the associates.”

Behind them, an associate, Gary, knocked on the glass door. Louis nodded for him to enter.

“You wanted to see me,” Gary asked nervously.

“Yes, Gary, please come in. Marcus, this is Gary Lipski. Gary's one of our most promising associates from last year.”

Gary stood by Marcus’s chair, offering his hand. Marcus took it, shaking it with a smile. “Hi.”

“Gary,” Louis looked to Gary, a calm façade masking him. “Ms. Peters wanted me to ask, have you completed the Petrenko filing?”

“Oh, well, my brother was in over the weekend so I didn't really get to it.”

Louis kept prodding, smiling, “I mean, Gary, come on, this is, like, the _third_ time I've had to ask.”

“I'll get right on it-”

“Don't bother, you're fired.” Louis said with a straight face, the smile never falling from his lips. In this moment, Marcus understood what Julia meant by ‘rat-faced bastard’ when referring to Louis.

“What?” Gary looked to Marcus, perplexed. “Y-y-you can't fire me.”

“Oh, yes, I can.” Louis was being unflappably serious. His smile turned cruel. “And I just did. Go pack up your things. And don't you ever show your face in this place again.”

Marcus sat completely still, hardly daring to breathe. He let his shock and sympathy register with Gary as he left.

Louis’s smile suddenly returned to the friendly façade he had greeted Marcus with. “See, I arranged for you to see that because we pay our associates _very well_ and we provide the opportunity for limited advancement.” The smile disappears completely. “But in return we expect results. Have I made myself clear?”

Marcus was filled with utter confusion. “Yeah.”

“Great.” He reached his hand over the table to shake. Marcus gingerly offered his. “Welcome to Peters Reagan and Cline. Feel free to go back to work.”

**PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**LOBBY**

Thomas was walking out of elevator five, looking down at his phone texting, heading back to his office from dinner. He looked up from his phone, breath takingly stunned, when he saw Haley and a younger woman, late teens early twenties, walking toward the elevators. She was with her daughter, Jada, the spitting image of her mother only shorter. Haley wore a depp navy blue Maeli evening gown from Chiara Boni’s La Petite Robe collection. The mermaid silhouette slimmed through her thighs and flared at the knees. The wide bateau neckline extended to her shoulder, creating cap sleeves. Where her mother looked elegant, Jada looked young and spunky in an Electric Blue Victoria Beckham silk-wool faille sheath dress. It had a fitted silhouette, deep V-neck creating a darting at bust.

“Thomas,” Haley bit back a smile at Thomas’s reaction. She called for an elevator.

“Hey, Uncle Tommy,” Jada smiled widely, stepping forward in her kitten heels to give him a hug. Thomas obliged happily, squeezing her close to him. When he pulled back, he kept his hand on the small of her back.

“I have two words for you. Absolutely beautiful.” He smiled at Haley. He nodded to Jada, “And what are you doing, slumming it with her?”

“Hey!” Jada pretended to be offended, slapping his chest with her clutch.

Haley smiled at their antics. She had named Thomas Jada’s Godfather nearly the moment she found out she was pregnant with her. A one-night stand with someone not at all qualified to be a father turned into a wonderfully loving girl with a bright future ahead of her at Columbia.

“Categorically stunning.” Thomas praised, pulling Jada in to kiss her on the head.

Haley chuckled. “You think you're the only one who can charm a client?” The elevator in front of them opened up. Haley held her hand on the doors to keep them open. “How's the new kid working out?”

“Really hot,” Thomas deflected. Haley rolled her eyes.

“You're an idiot.” She walked into the elevator, keeping the door open for her daughter. “Goodnight, Thomas.”

“Night, Uncle Tommy.” She stretched up to kiss him on the cheek.

“Night love.”

As the doors close, Thomas carries on walking and texting.


	5. Chapter 5

**PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**OFFICE OF THOMAS REAGAN**

**TUESDAY MORNING**

Thomas walked toward Julia Vicario's desk. It’s been a hectic morning, but she looked stunning – an electric blue Victoria Beckham silk-wool sheath dress. Her silhouette was fitted, showing off her athletic curves, yet kept the natural waistline; a deep V-neck darted at bust, shoulders and back; and her sleeves were elbow-length. Her hair was down today, waving gently.

“Julia, I need the-”

Without looking away from her computer screen, Julia handed him a folded piece of paper. As he put it inside his suit jacket, he asked,

“Oh, also, I didn't have a chance to-”

Again, Julia passed him a cup of coffee – two shot espresso vanilla macchiato with soymilk and a light nutmeg powder topping - without looking away from her screen.

“Marry me?”

Julia finally looked away to smile up at him sweetly, yet a wicked streak glinted behind her eyes. “I took care of that too, we've been married for the last seven years.”

“Excellent.” He leaned over her desk to kiss her cheek. As he pulled away, she grabbed his tie and held him in place.

“Not so fast.” She stuck a yellow sticky note to his tie before letting him go. “A women called this morning, Ms. Agnes Bojax-something.”

Thomas, stunned and mildly curious, didn’t need to read the message card to know who she was. “Agnes Bojaxhiu.”

“Yeah. I said you’d call back when you got in. She sounded pretty important.”

“That’s because she is.”

As Thomas was walking away, Marcus came chasing after him around Julia’s desk, carrying a file.

“Devlin McGregor's fighting the subpoena, they filed a motion to dismiss the case based on our lack of evidence.”

“Good.

Marcus stopped in the hallway. “Good?” He hurried after Thomas again. “Wait, what do you mean good?”

“They don't want to hand over the files. You pressed where it hurt, you're looking in the right place.” Thomas glanced over his shoulder with a smile. “Did you think they wouldn't fight back?”

“Well, I... now that you mention it.”

This time, it was Thomas who stopped in the middle of the busy hallway. “Oh. My bad. I keep forgetting you don't actually know anything.

Marcus laughed sarcastically, looking around to see if anyone heard.

“The idea is you make a move, they make a move.” Thomas continued. “You go back and forth until one of you wins.”

“Okay, what if they win the motion and the case gets dismissed?”

“Then you're not as good as you think you are.” Thomas walked away. After a moment, Marcus followed. It wasn’t long before he scampered off when Haley stepped out of her office.

“Thomas,” Haley smiled, stopping Thomas by her door. “What a coincidence. I was wondering how the pro bono was coming?”

“I'm all over it,” Thomas raised his coffee cup in a toast.

“That makes me very happy,” Haley gave him her lawyer smile – a smile that appeared kind and understand but also let you know she would destroy you given half the chance, “because if I were to find out that you weren't putting in your full effort, I'd be _very_ upset.”

“No worries, Haley. We're all good.” Thomas reassured her before walking away.

At the first secluded cubby hole he could find tucked away in a hallway, he stepped in. He kept his back to the wall so he could see who was coming and going. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit a number on speed dial. The other line answered on the second ring.

“You are no Mother Teresa,” Thomas smiled.

“ _Well_ ,” Dr. Bedelia Moore smiled, “ _I had to get your attention somehow_.”

Bedelia was a life-long friend and business partner of Thomas’s, not to mention a noted psychiatrist and Madame of a certain variety. Where her business is concerned, she is a valued client at Peters Reagan & Cline.

“Could have come by the office.”

_“That’s too much trouble just to ask you to dinner.”_

Thomas smiled into the phone. “Dinner with you is trouble.”

Bedelia laughed. “ _Only the best kind of trouble. Tonight. Nine o’clock.”_

“That doesn’t sound like a question.”

_“That’s because I’m not giving you the option.”_

And with that, she hung up. Thomas put his phone to his lips as he thought. Perhaps this dinner would do him some good; he’s been meaning to call Bedelia for a new girl for some time now.

**LATER**

After fleeing Haley Peter’s gaze, Marcus spotted Delphine coming out of a room and rushed to catch up with her.

“Delphine, Delphine, Delphine, Delphine.” He called out, getting her attention while he worked his way up the hallway to her. “I need your help, there's a hearing on my subpoena.”

Her short hair was curled today, and bounced with every step. “I ‘ave got zree cases in front of you, so you are going ‘ave to wait in line.”

“No. No, no, no, my hearing is tomorrow.”

Delphine stopped and turned to him. “So why are you coming to me?”

“Because Julia says you're the best researcher in the firm.”

“Hm.” Delphine’s eyebrow twitched as she smiled. “Let me see ze motion.”

She turned to enter an office. As Marcus walks in behind her, she gets a look at the door, a sign reading _'Delphine Laurent, Paralegal'_.

“Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, you have an office?” Marcus was in disbelief. He kept glancing back and forth between Delphine and the door. “How do you have an office and I have a cubicle?”

Delphine sits behind her desk and starts writing out a form. She smiled. “Like you said, I am ze best researcher in the firm.”

“Really? Well, I just made that up,” Marcus laughed, not noticing Delphine’s smile fade. “I didn't even have time to talk to Julia.”

Straight-faced, Delphine capped her pen and placed in on her desk, letting Marcus know she was done helping him. “Is zis all a joke to you? 'Cause I take my job seriously.”

“No, I-I'm sorry. I was...” Marcus mentally kicked himself. He sat down in an armchair in front of her desk. “Look, you weren't there, okay? I care about this woman. She has got nowhere else to turn and I-”

“And you cannot ‘elp ‘er by yourself?”

“I can,” Marcus thought over his words. “I just prefer not to.”

After a moment, Delphine nodded. “Okay.” She began looking through the file on her desk. “You are asking to look at private files wizout any evidence of your assertion.”

“Yeah, but the only way we can find the evidence is to look at those files.”

“A rocky argument.”

“But is there precedent?”

“Let us go see if we can find one.” She picked up the papers Marcus would need and placed them in the file. As they both got up to leave, she slapped the file in his chest, giving it back to him.

**FIRM LIBRARY**

**5 th FLOOR**

Marcus and Delphine walk through the glass doors out of the elevator banks and into the research level. From what Marcus could tell, the entire floor was one big legal library.

“Research is as much art as science so we are going to look at privacy and ‘arassment law. See if we can find a combination of cases to make an argument.” She rounded the corner rail and walked down a flight of steps, designed in a combination of both glass and stainless steel metal. “I will take privacy.”

“I'll take harassment law,” Marcus said softly, gazing around at all the books.

“Zis will take a while. We are going to need dinner.”

“Chinese?”

Delphine laughed, shaking her head. “No. I can afford Chinese on my own, zis is on the firm. I want sushi.”

**MANHATTAN BAR**

**NIGHT**

Thomas and Vanessa Zimmer, Peters Reagan & Cline’s go-to private investigator, sit on opposite-facing sofas in a swanky bar, both with a glass of wine. She was beautiful for her age, early forties. She was naturally tan, smooth skin with the exception of laugh lines in the corners of her green eyes. Her hair was a sleek brunette bob with bangs covering her forehead. She is exceptionally good at her job, although her tactics are not always strictly legal. She rarely carries anything except her cellphone and a notebook; but then again, what else does she need?

“So they told me to put my top investigator on.” Thomas said, in the middle of a story.

Vanessa laughed. “What did you do?”

“What could I do?” Thomas laughed with her. “You were out of the country, so I gave them Corry.”

Vanessa laughed again, this time almost spitting out the wine she was drinking. It was no secret that Corry Hoffer was a moronic bastard.

“By the way,” Thomas put his glass on wine on the cocktail table between them, “that dress. Beautiful.”

A little black dress with a daring neckline featuring leather accents; black ribbed stockings and a pair of black fuck-me heels.

“Thomas,” Vanessa mimicked him, placing her glass down beside his. “Why don't we do this more often?”

“Because you always want it to end the same way.”

“With me and you under those nice Egyptian cotton sheets? Naked? That’s not a bad ending.”

Thomas chuckled. “Vanessa, I don't sleep around. And I could never be in a relationship with you.”

“Because all you ever think about is yourself.”

“Because you’re nosey. And I don’t do relationships.”

Vanessa looked mournfully coy at Thomas and sighs. She putting her hand on the red folder that held their tab. “Please, I insist.”

Thomas placed his hand over hers. But I'm a gentleman. Besides,” He stood, taking the tab with him, “you came through on Dockery for me and I'm not one to forget a favor.”

Vanessa held up her hand to him. Thomas took it and helped her to her feet. She stepped in closer to him, placing a brown envelope into his chest while leaning in to whisper in his ear, “Neither am I.”

She took his ear lobe between her teeth and nipped. She left without so much as a wink over her shoulder. Thomas smiled.

**PER SE**

**COLUMBUS CIRLCE**

Thomas order a glass of Sancerre and stand at the bar. It 8:50. Bedelia was nothing if not punctual; meaning, he had to arrive early to greet her. He glance towards the entrance of the bar….and his mouth dries. She’s standing in the threshold and Thomas is taken back all those years to when they first started seeing each other quote-unquote ‘romantically’. For a woman of forty-seven, she never seemed to age. She’s wearing very little makeup, not that she needed to anyway. Sometimes he would catch himself wondering if she was his first love; she was most certainly his first heartache.

 She looks exquisite – her honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to her breast on one side, and on the other its pinned back so it’s easier to see her delicate jawline and the gentle curve of her neck. She’s wearing lavender high heels and an ivory white tailored pencil dress with cap sleeves; over her arm hung a lavender blazer and in her hand a black tote. Pearl ball stud earrings completed her look.

Thomas stepped forward to meet her.

“You look stunning,” I tell her, and kiss her cheek.

She placed her hand on Thomas’s cheek and raised her eyebrow curiously. “And you smell like cheap perfume and alcohol.”

Thomas laced her hand through his arm and escorted her to a booth. “I just left a bar.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Business,” Thomas smiles as he guides her into the booth. “Your pleasure.”

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Bedelia told the waiter as he approached. “Sancerre.”

“How did you know it was Sancerre is was drinking?” Thomas slid into the booth opposite of her.

“Because that’s what I drink,” she smiled. Her eyelids flutter, not something characteristic of her. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Business or personal?”

“Personal.” The waiter returns and places Bedelia’s wine and a small dish of olives between us. “There is something, more like _someone,_ I want to talk to you about. Someone I think you would be interested in.”

Thomas takes an olive and tosses it into his mouth. “I’m listening.”

Bedelia pulled out a photo of a young woman from her tote and slid it across the table to him. The woman was an ordinary sort of beautiful – plain upon first glance, but breathtaking after a prolonged exposure. She had long chestnut hair, curled and pinned out of her face; thick lashes surrounded her clear, powder blue eyes that, for an awful moment, Thomas felt like she could see right through him, leaving him completely exposed. The thought was unnerving, yet vastly pleasing. Her small, sweet face held a touch of pale rose color to her cheeks.

“Interested?” Thomas looks up at Bedelia and saw an ulterior motive behind her patient smile.

“What’s the catch?” He asked, placing the photo back on the table. “This is a favor, after all.”

“This woman, Jane Doe, is a doctoral student at a very prestigious university, about to graduate and start working on her post-doctorate work.”

“You’re being vague.”

“Purposefully so. I don’t want you looking her up before you agree.”

“What’s her field?”

“Same as mine, psychology and sociology. Psychiatry. She’s receiving her doctorate in both in a couple weeks.”

“And you are coming to me because…..”

The edges of her mouth twitched in amusement. “She’s looking into using domination as a form of approved therapy, to treat patients with consensual pain. I’ve read her work, it’s very interesting. I’d like to see more of it.”

“I already have a fantastic therapist. And we own several domination clubs; have her learn the world through immersion.”

“I recommended you Solomon Roth, I already know how fantastic he is. And that’s not what I’m coming to you for.” She sipped her wine. “You know just as well as I that she can’t be put up in one of the clubs. That would be breaking more ethic and legal rules than we are both comfortable with. Her research would be a very big breach of client privacy and that would drive business away.”

“Only if they find out.” Bedelia ignored his jab. He sighed. “So you don’t need me as your lawyer, your business partner, or as therapy client. So, Bedelia, I’ll ask again.” He tapped ‘Jane Doe’s picture. “You are coming to me because…”

“No pun intended, but I need someone to show her the ropes. She was a student of mine and I wouldn’t trust her to just anyone, Thomas.”

“And now you want _me_ to be her teacher?”

“I was your teacher, once, too. Remember?” She sipped her wine and tilted her head to the side. “Look how great you turned out. I want the same for her.”

“Bedelia-”

“She needs a Dom and I told her you were a close friend. Trusted and discreet. I told her you were the best; was I lying?”

“Bedelia, when I come to you for a subs, this is not what I have in mind.”

“No, but his way all three of us get what we want.”

“More like two. I need someone who knows what the hell they’re doing. What’s expected and not expected. Not a child. I don’t have time to teach.”

“Make time.” She pulled a file from her tote this time and handed it to him. “This is not a request, Thomas. She’s a bright, promising young woman capable of so many fantastic things. _Show them_ to her.”

Thomas downed his glass of wine before taking the file begrudgingly. “You get what you want, and I get to babysit. Perfect.”

**THOMAS REAGAN’S CAR**

Thomas had offered to take Bedelia home, but she already had a car service waiting. They kissed goodnight, Thomas at the very least promising to consider her offer and call her in the morning.

Carson, Thomas’s body man, was holding the door open for Thomas as he approached the car. “Did you get what you cam for, Sir?”

“That remains to be seen, Carson.” Thomas got in, adding Bedelia’s file to the Dockery file Vanessa gave him.

“Where to, sir?” Carson asked, starting the car.

“Work.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thomas read the file while Carson drove them back to Peters Reagan & Cline:

_ELEANOR MARCUS REESE_

 

                                                                                                DOB:                                      Sept. 10, 1980, Seattle, WA

                                                                                                Address:                                 184 Waverly Pl, Apartment 7, West Village,

                                                                                                                                               New York, NY 10014

                                                                                               Cell Phone:                               212-435-2959

                                                                                               Social Security Number:            122-03-0785

                                                                                               Bank:                                        Bank of America; Acct. No.: 408472

                                                                                                                                               $683.16 balance

                                                                                               Occupation:                             Doctoral Student

                                                                                                                                              Columbia University

                                                                                                                                              PhD in Psychology and Sociology

                                                                                               GPA:                                       4.0

                                                                                              Prior Education:                      Columbia University - Undergraduate

                                                                                                                                             Nathan Hale High School

                                                                                               SAT Score:                              2150

                                                                                              Employment:                           Oswald Psychiatry – Paid Intern/Part-Time

`                                                                                                                                           1155 Park Ave, New York, NY, 10128

                                                                                              Father:                                     Doran A. Brooke, DOB: December 13th, 1961

                                                                                                                                             Location - Unknown

                                                                                              Mother:                                   Joyce Patricia Reese Nolan, DOB: July 20th, 1963

                                                                                                                                                       m. Lucas Harrison Davis, May 5th 1984

                                                                                                                                                            divorced, June 2nd 2001

                                                                                                                                                       m. Carl Trenton Nolan, February 11th 2003

                                                                                            Political Affiliation:                    None Found

                                                                                            Religious Affiliation:                  None Found

                                                                                            Sexual Orientation:                    Heterosexual

                                                                                            Relationships:                            None at present

**PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**FIRM LIBRARY**

**5 TH FLOOR**

Marcus and Delphine were laughing as they ate sushi and wantons while they were researching, their table covered in books and food.

“Do you remember when I said you thought you were too smart to be a paralegal?” Delphine nodded, covering her mouth as she chewed. “Why...”

“Am I not a lawyer?” She asked, her accent even harder to understand as she spoke around the food. Marcus motions 'yes' with his hand. She swallowed. “I do not test well.”

“What?”

“I…I am smart, and I know I would be a good lawyer, I just…I do not know what it is. I cannot take tests and I bombed the LSATs.” She chuckled darkly. “And even if I could get into a law school, zere is just no way I would pass ze bar so...If only zere was someone who could take ze test for me.”

Marcus chuckled awkwardly, looking away. “Yeah, if only there were.”

Thomas walked into the library and peered over the steel rail bannister, looking down on them. “Marcus. Where are you at with the research for tomorrow's hearing?”

“Er,” Marcus looked around his papers before glancing up at Thomas. “Nothing yet.”

“You say you care about the client but if you keep playing footsie instead of finding me an argument, the client's gonna lose.” Thomas’s gaze lingers on Delphine before he walks away. Marcus noticed, but decided to keep it to himself for now. Before leaving the library, he calls out, “I don't want to lose!”

“Oh. Look. It is no use, okay?” Delphine sighed, dipping her wanton in sauce. “Zeir investigation is by ze book, we look like les méchants coming in putting zem under duress.”

Marcus paused, his hands in mid-air, starring at Delphine as if she grew a second head. “What did you just say?”

Delphine was mildly surprised by his sudden shift. “I said we look like ze bad guys, les méchants. Do you not like French-”

“No no no, you said they did it by the book and we're putting them _under duress_.” As Marcus spoke, he began frantically flipping through a legal textbook on the edge of the table. They had to make room for the crab cakes.

“Oui….”

After a moment, Marcus smiled and put an open book littered with yellow sticky notes in front of Delphine. “Look.”

It only takes her a moment to see where he was going. She looks up and smiles.


	6. Chapter 6

**OUTSIDE PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**WEDNESDAY MORNING**

            Marcus Frasier was standing before Thomas Reagan as he leaned against his black car town car, looking at the file Marcus gave him. As Thomas read, Marcus kept glancing at a man is standing in front of the town car, on the street. Carson, the firm’s head of security as well as Thomas’s bodyguard, was in his late 30's, tall, muscular, and wore an extreme buzz cut hair style. The immaculately tailored black suit he wore looked strikingly similar to the Peters Reagan & Cline security men, only more expensive.

“This is good.” Thomas nodded. “We're gonna have some fun.”

“We? W-” Marcus turned his attention back to Thomas. “I get to go?”

“You didn't think I'd let you come along?”

“No.”

“Good instinct,” Thomas looked up, snapping the file closed. “I wasn't. But then I thought it'd be cruel not to let you witness my greatness.”

As Thomas opened the rear driver’s side door he leaned against, Carson moved towards the car and got into the driver’s seat. Marcus gestured to their building behind them.

“Okay, can I go get my bag?”

“No.” Thomas got in and shit the door behind him.

“You're a true giver,” Marcus muttered as he walked around the rear of the car to sit beside Thomas.

In the car, Carson is driving silently, while Marcus and Thomas were equally silent in the back seat. Thomas was rereading the file, scribbling notes in the margins. Marcus was anxiously nervous. This would be his first time in a court room not as the defendant…..and he’d be going as a fake lawyer.

“So…” Marcus leaned in closer to Thomas and whispered so the driver couldn’t hear, “who is this guy?”

Thomas looked up from the file, confused. Marcus glanceed at Carson. Thomas looked back down at the file, no longer interested.

“That’s Carson. He’s my bodyguard and the head of our security team. Say hello, Carson.”

“Hello, Mr. Frasier.” Carson said, glancing up at the rearview to make eye contact with Marcus.

Marcus sheepishly waved, but still whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “But he takes the time to drive you around?”

Thomas’s phone starts ringing. He fishes it out of his suit pocket and whispers back sarcastically, “Where I go, he goes.”

He hold the phone to his ear. “Reagan.”

 _“I don’t like to be kept waiting, Thomas.”_ Bedelia warm voice came through. _“Yes or no.”_

“I want to meet her first. We’ll chat, then I’ll let you know.”

Bedelia was silent on the other line for a beat before answering. _“Friday afternoon.”_

She hung up and Thomas pocketed his phone, receiving a curious look out of the corner of Marcus’s eye.

**COURT**

         Thomas and Mr. Hunt's lawyer stood in front of their respective tables, Thomas actually slightly perched on the corner of the prosecutor's table, before a judge in a courtroom. Marcus was sat silently at the prosecutor's table next to Thomas, just as Mr. Hunt sat beside his lawyer. There are a few people watching the proceedings, mainly waiting for their own hearing. As arguments went on, Officer Jamie Reagan snuck in quietly and sat in the back.

Thomas was an unsung legend at Harvard amongst the students, and a small point of pride for the faculty that had him. If Thomas and Jamie shared professors, they would take the time after lectures to ask Jamie about Thomas. Their voice always held a note of respect and admiration, if not a small amount of contempt for his school antics. But there was no doubt with anyone that watching Thomas work a courtroom was both an art as well as an act.

“Your honor, this case should be thrown out.” Mr. Hunt’s lawyer said again. “Other than her story, the plaintiff doesn't have one piece of evidence.”

“Because the evidence lies within their personnel files, which they're conveniently refusing to hand over.”

“Those files contain sensitive information, he's _fishing_ the expense of our employee's right to privacy.”

“ _Please_.” Thomas scoffed. “They don't give a rat's ass about his employee's right to privacy. Sorry,” Thomas got off the corner of the table and stood beside Mr. Hunt’s lawyer. “That's actually unfair to rats’ asses.”

Both the judge and Marcus smile.

“Your honor,” Mr. Hunt’s lawyer sighed, “Mr. Reagan's claim that we don't care about our employees, though belittling, doesn't carry any weight as a rule of law.”

“True, but what _does_ carry weight is that an investigation of sexual harassment must be conducted without any duress.”

“Your point?” The judge asked.

Thomas placed both his hands on the wooden barrier between the prosecution and defense tables and the Judge’s bench. “The investigator and every person being interviewed answers to the CEO they're investigating. That is the _definition_ of duress.”

To drive his point home, Thomas walked over to the court’s bailiff who stood at the edge of the court room. “It'd be as if your bailiff accused _you_ of sexual harassment and you assigned your stenographer to investigate. Now, how likely would it be that this investigation yielded any fruit?”

“You honestly think I would _harass_ Herman?” The judge asked. Herman, the bailiff glanced at Thomas.

Thomas winked back at Herman. “Well, I don't know, your honor, some people have a thing for the uniform.”

The judge sighed. “I'd like to think Herman would come to me before it even got to an investigation.”

Herman looked at Thomas and discretely shook his head. Mr. Hunt’s lawyer pointed at them, “I saw that. That should be stricken.”

Thomas made his way back to the prosecutor's table as he spoke, one hand in his pocket. “But what if Herman _did_ come to you, your honor, and you betrayed his trust by _firing_ him under false pretenses?”

The judge cocked his eyebrow. “You really think that little of me?”

“I wouldn't trust you as far as I can throw you.” Thomas plaid his hands on the barrier again. “Your honor.”

The judge paused, considering the motion. “Hand over the files. Today.” He banged his gavel and turned to Herman. “I'd like to speak to you in chambers.

Behind the prosecution’s table where Marcus and Thomas gathered up their paperwork, Herman escorted the judge into chambers.

“That was awesome,” Marcus smiled.

“It was your argument.” Thomas gave his trainee an ounce of glory before snatching it away. “I just framed it in a way that humanized the situation and brightened all of our afternoons.”

“I feel like Michael Corleone in that scene where that fat guy teaches him how to shoot that gun.”

“Are you saying that I'm the fat guy?” Thomas shook his head. “'Cause I'm not the fat guy.”

Thomas began to exit the courtroom but is stopped by Jamie. Seeing an officer in uniform approach them, Marcus tensed up. His anxiety turned to confusion when he heard Thomas chuckle and bring the officer into a hug.

“Miss this already?” Thomas asked, patting Jamie’s back and pulling away.

“A little.” Jamie shrugged, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops. “Thought I’d see how the dark side works.”

Thomas mocked offense. “Dark Side? Jameson, I’m protecting an innocent woman that did no more than refuse her boss’s sexual advances.” He could see Jamie wasn’t buying it. “How’d you know I was here, anyway?”

“Called you at the office, see if you wanted lunch. Julia said you’d be here with your new boy toy.” Jamie nodded over Thomas’s shoulder to Marcus. Marcus looked around to see if he could have been talking about someone else. He pointed to himself, face pulled back.

“Boy toy?”

“New York City’s newest rookie officer and my younger brother, Jameson Reagan, meet my newest associate lawyer, Marcus Frasier.” He smiled at the both of them. “You two idiots should get along.”

“Jamie.” He offers his hand, reaching past Thomas.

“Marcus.” When he pulled back his hand, he waved his finger between Jamie and Thomas. “So Thomas the only Reagan not to take up the uniform?”

“Well,” Thomas turned serious for a moment, “for a while there Jamie almost had your job.”

Marcus looks confused so Jamie translated. “I graduated Harvard Law a couple years ago. And if I wasn’t going to take up a post in Washington, then I’d come work for Haley and Tom.”

“Work his way up to junior partner then senior then, if I’m feeling benevolent,” Thomas gave his younger brother a warm smile, “make him name partner.”

“The Reagan brothers, soulless corporate lawyers ready to take over New York.” Jamie’s laugh was cut short by his watch going off. “My lunch break’s over. If I don’t get back, Sarge will have my ass. Lecture me on being too much like Danny.”

Thomas and Jamie hug again. When Thomas pulled back, her patted Jamie’s cheek fondly. “Stay safe baby brother.”

“Careful now, Tommy,” Jamie said, walking backwards to the door, “your humanity is showing.”

Thomas waved off the insult with a smile. As he and Marcus made their was out, Marcus said, “Do you know what his name was?”

“Who?”

“The fat guy.”

“Yeah.”

“Cordoza.”

“Peter _Clemenza_.”

“I knew that, I was just testing to see if you knew it.”

“I knew that you knew that I knew.”

**SUIT SHOP**

         A smart-looking man was talking to his assistant, who is seated at the fully stocked bar, in a posh, minimalistic suit shop. They both look over at the front window to Marcus peering in. Catching their glances, he awkwardly opens the door and walks in.

Renee, the tailor and owner of the shop, whispers backhandedly to his assistant, “Train wreck.”

“Hey, er, I'm looking for, “Marcus looked down at the business card Thomas had shoved at him, “Renee.”

“I'm Renee,” He said, walking up to Marcus. “I'm sorry, we don't sell skinny jeans at this location.”

“Eh-” Marcus sighed frustrated, gesturing with his arms. “Did Thomas Reagan tell you I was coming or...?”

“Tommy sent you?” Renee perked up, his eyebrows raising and a smile tugging at his lips. Behind him, his assistant hopped off the bar stool and pulled together Renee’s tools. “That's another story! Do you know your inseam?”

“I don't, uh, it's probably a medium.”

Renee sighed, shaking his head slightly. “Why don't you browse for a while?” He gestured toward the racks of suits lining the wall. “These are most exclusive and we move down in price as you head to the door.”

Marcus smiles as he tucks away the business card. Renee walks away and the shop assistant hands Marcus a glass of whiskey. Each client has a drink preference for when they come into Renee’s shop. Thomas’s was whiskey.

“Thanks,” Marcus accepted the glass as the assistant drops to measure his inseam. “Oookay. Large?”

She laughed quietly and stood up. “That's not how it works.”

**PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**OFFICE OF DELPHINE LAURENT**

          Marcus knocked on Delphine’s office door, walking in as he sits upright from the paperwork she was hunched over.

“Salut,” Delphine smiled.

“So the files are on their way.”

“We won?” She put her pen down and leaned back in her seat. “Zat is fantastic.”

“So now we have a week to corroborate Nancy's story. Listen,” Marcus placed his hands on the back of a chair. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

“You would not even know where to _look_ without me.”

“You know what nobody likes? Nobody likes a showoff.”

Delphine laughed as the office phone rang. She answered on the second ring. “Delphine Laurent…Yes, ‘ee is ‘ere…Okay, zank you.” She hung up the phone as she stood up from her desk. “Files are in Conference Room C.”

“Why wouldn't they bring them to my cubicle?”

**CONFERENCE ROOM C**

           Marcus and Delphine stood in conference room C, surrounded by boxes piled on boxes around the room. She placed a hand on her hip and sighed.

“Zey are trying to bury you in paperwork.”

“Well,” Marcus shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair, “they picked the wrong guy.”

“If they didn't, I did.” Both Delphine and Marcus turn to see Thomas stepping into the doorway of the conference room. “Get it done by the end of the week. I gotta run and charm my new client.”

Thomas left, waving to Delphine while putting his cell to his ear. Delphine offers a small smile back and Marcus sighs.

**HAMPTONS COUNTRY CLUB**

            Thomas strolled into a secluded tennis court in an expensive-looking part of town, carrying a Nike duffle bag over his shoulder that looked out of place with his expensive suit and a file.

“Nice to finally meet the reclusive other half of the dynamic duo.” Mr. Dockery shouted from the court. He began to walk over with his racket in hand and puts the ball in his pocket. “Haley speaks very highly of you.”

Thomas dropped duffle bag on a chair beside the court before walking over to Mr. Dockery, one hand extended and the other holding the file. “She wouldn’t be with me if I weren’t the best, Mr. Dockery.” They shake hands. “You’ve got a nice serve there.”

“Working on it,” Dockery smiled.

Thomas handed over the file to Dockery. Curious, Dockery opened the flap and pulls out a picture from inside - of him, naked in bed, embracing a younger woman.

Dockery’s head snapped up. “What the hell is this?”

“It's _you_ ,” Thomas nodded to the photo, “having sex with a woman who _isn't_ Mrs. Dockery.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?” He seethed through clenched teeth.

“You asked my firm where you're vulnerable to corporate takeover.” He tapped the photo with two fingers. “That's it right there.”

“What are you pulling here?”

“Your wife owns 10% of the company's voting shares. You've been seeing this woman and several others for quite some time, how do you think your wife's gonna vote after she finds out?”

“Who said she has to find out?”

Arrogance. Always the downfall of a cheating spouse, thinking the other half would never find out. In the end, they always know. And they always find out. Ignorance is a choice, but the knowledge remains. Thomas took a step forward to Mr. Dockery.

“My investigator got these within a _week_. What do you think a motivated competitor's gonna dig up in a year?”

Mr. Dockery darkly scoffed, walking over to one of the chairs next to the court and throws his racket onto it. Thomas slowly walked over to him.

“I have a solution.” Dockery turned to him. “Trade her your preferred shares, which have _no_ voting rights, for her common shares, which _do_.”

“The preferred shares are worth $2,000,000 more,” Dockery blanched.

“A _fraction_ of what you'll lose if you get voted out of your company. John, I don't care if you sleep with every woman in the Hamptons, just give her the preferred shares.”

Agitated, Dockery stalked over to Thomas. “Haley said you were gonna _charm_ me to get my business.”

“Haley is the charming half of this duo. I'm not interested in getting your business, I'm interested in _keeping_ it.”


	7. Chapter 7

**PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**OFFICE OF THOMAS REAGAN**

**THURSDAY MORNING**

             Marcus slumps into Thomas’s black leather sofa, exhausted. The suit he wore yesterday was rumpled and wrinkled, his tie undone and tucked into his back pocket, his suit jacket still in the conference room.

“I know where they don't want us to look.”

Thomas walked in behind Marcus with his briefcase and stopped in front of Marcus, amazed and slightly off-put by his associate’s appearance. “Did you get through all those files in one night?”

“Eh, I would have done it faster but I ordered a pizza.” Thomas put his briefcase on his desk and opened it. As Marcus spoke, Thomas took out his laptop and started it up. “Speaking of which, have you ever had the cheese in the crust? Because it blew my mind.”

“What d'you find?”

“There was a dismissal on March 12, 2005 but the file with the employee name on it is missing.” Thomas looked up from what he was typing. “It's our woman. I _know_ it is. I'm moving to slap sanctions on their attorney, possible jail time.” Marcus slouched back proudly, throwing his arms up on the couch. “That guy's not gonna know what hit him.”

Thomas picked up the phone and started dialing. “Dennis. It's Thomas Reagan. Did you have anything to do with the March 12th, 2005 files left out of discovery?”

Marcus yawns into his hand, then catches a whiff of himself. Disgusted, he makes sure Thomas hasn't noticed.

“If they're here by noon, I'll believe you, if not, we're filing for sanctions.” Thomas hangs up and opened a drawer of his desk. “Threat of sanctions is better than filing for sanctions.”

“That's what I meant. Threaten, not file. Who would mean that?”

Thomas walked over to Marcus and placed a razor, a travel-size cream and deodorant on the coffee table. “Shave.”

**CENTRAL PARK**

         Marcus and Nancy walk through the nearly empty park as he shows her an open file. “Have you ever heard of this woman, Joanna Webster?”

“No. Why?”

“Hunt’s company tried to hide her from us.”

“You think Hunt did the same thing to her that he did to me?”

“Yes. I do-”

Nancy grabbed Marcus's arm and stopped them in the middle of the pathway. A man on a bike swerved to avoid them. “Then you _have_ to make her come forward and say so.”

“Yeah.” Marcus gave her a reassuring smile. “That's the plan.”

“Thank you.”

**APARTMENT OF JOANNA WEBSTER**

**OUTSIDE**

           Marcus sat on the steps outside of an apartment block, checking the time on his watch and looking down at the ground. He was exhausted and bored. A twenty minute powernap on the subway was risky even on the best of days. A woman approached the stoop cautiously with two shopping bags. She slows to a stop when she realizes that the man on the stoop is waiting for her.

“Joanna Webster?” Marcus asked hopefully, standing up.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, uh, my name's Marcus Frasier, I'm, uh, I'm a lawyer. I have some questions for you about your time at Devlin McGregor.”

Joanna shook her head and brushed past Marcus, walking up the stoop to her building.

“No, please, look,” Marcus called after her. Joanna waited at the door with one hand on the knob. “Just let me tell you a story about my client, okay?”

**LATER**

        Marcus and Joanna were sitting in Joanna's living room talking. Joanna sat defensively in a wicker chair, secluded from the couch Marcus sat on.

“Mr. Frasier, what happened to me happened _six years ago_. It was horrible and there was a reason I didn't do anything about it. They'll put me on that stand and attack me and I don't want that.”

“Miss Webster.” Marcus scooched along the sofa to get closer to her chair. “Joanna. This man is a predator. And if you don't help stop him, he _will_ do it again.”

Joanna twitched nervously.

“All you have to do is give a deposition-

“I'm sorry.” Joanna cut across him, waving her hand and shaking her head. “I can't do it.”

Marcus hangs his head and sighed. What was he going to tell Thomas?

**PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**OFFICE OF THOMAS REAGAN**

**NIGHT**

         Thomas sat at his desk working on his laptop, listening to music that Nicky had sent him. He honestly hated it, but promised her head given it a try. Marcus looked in through glass door before entering.

Thomas peeked up at Marcus as he entered, but his stare lingered when he saw his associate’s down casted face. “What happened with the witness?”

“Uh...” Marcus sighed, biting his lower lip. “I failed.”

Thomas shook his head and looked back down at his laptop.

Marcus broke out his grin. “To not be awesome.” He spread his arms out as Thomas looked back up. “I got her to testify!”

“You should have seen me.” Marcus put his hands on the front of Thomas’s desk. Thomas leaned back in his chair with a smirk as he listened to his rookie recount his glory. “I-I tried everything, the ‘he'd do it again’ bit. You know, I'd be with her every step of the way. Nothing worked. And then it hit me. I asked her what if it was her _daughter_ that he did this to? She melted. Oh, and you know how I came up with that little gem?” Marcus leaned in further and whispered, “I _cared_ about her.”

Pushing off the desk, Marcus took a deep breath in and pretends to shoot Thomas with his fingers. Thomas swiveled in his chair, dodging the pretend bullet. Marcus then pretended blow the smoke away from the barrel of a gun, spin around his finger and put it back in its holster.

Thomas chuckled. “I'm glad to see that staying up all night doesn't make you act like a complete idiot.” Marcus spun around with his fingers in his ears, singing 'la, la, la' as Thomas continued to talk. “Now, go home and get some sleep, I don't want you waving that thing around during tomorrow's deposition.”

Marcus turned serious suddenly after seeing Haley heading toward Thomas’s office. He clears his throat and held the door open for her before exiting as she enters.

“Thomas.” Haley smiled as she walked into his office. “How's the pro bono going?”

“Great.” Thomas nodded, standing up from his desk. “I just talked a witness into testifying.”

“Really? What's the witness's name?” Haley put a hand on her hip, expecting him to remain silent.

“Joanna Webster.” Thomas cocked his eyebrow. They both knew better, that if Thomas was going to lie, he’d know exactly what he was lying about.

Haley’s smile didn’t disappear, only lost its friendly edge. “I'm not an idiot, Thomas. Don't treat me like one. You _pawned off_ the case.”

“Haley,” Thomas sighed, hanging his head. He put his hands in his pockets, not willing to fight her on this. She caught him with his pants down, she deserved to yell at him about it.

“Thomas, may I remind you that when we first met I was the pro-bono lawyer to the utter screw-up? Drugs, anger issues, the works. I gave you a shot at the mailroom, led you up the ranks and then _paid_ for you to go to Harvard, where, by the way, you jerked off the _entire time_ you were there, and I _still_ hired you.”

“And named me Godfather to Jada. And we built a beautiful practice together. And we’ve both benefited from that ever since.” Thomas listed off more things they’ve accomplished together. “I closed Dockery-”

“You made a promise to me.” Haley cut across him. “You _broke it_ and then you _lied_ to my face. So, let me be clear,” she stalked closer to his desk to say in a menacingly low voice, “this isn't professional, this is _personal_. You made your bed, you better God damn win, _Partner_.”

Haley walked away, throwing the door closed behind her out of frustration. The night janitor cleaning out trash bins nearby looked up curiously to watch her stalk away back to her office. Thomas rubbed his head, equally frustrated.

**APARTMENT OF MARCUS FRASIER**

          Marcus entered his apartment with his bicycle on his shoulder. A lot of his stuff had been moved and knocked over, there are things on the floor. He would have thought it was a break-in, except he had to unlock his door. That meant someone had a key…..

Marcus dropped his bicycle and ran over to the open oven where he had left three pizza boxes. The top box had a handful of slices, the bottom one was completely empty, but it was the middle box that held the true prize. The briefcase full of weed was still there.

Marcus pulled out his cell to call up Trevor, pacing as best he could around his tossed apartment.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“ _I need the briefcase back._ ”

“Oh, so that's what this has been about, huh? You don't care about our friendship at all.”

“ _You're my oldest friend and you know it….but you don't seem to care about that anymore and, yeah, I need the briefcase back. And I'm gonna find it, Marc.”_

“Well, I ditched it when I was running away from the cops _that you sent me into_!” Marcus hollered into the phone before hanging up and throwing it onto his sofa angrily. He continued to paces, his head in hands.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**APARTMET OF MARCUS FRASIER**

**FRIDAY MORNING**

         Marcus picks his keys up off the table, then places his other hand on the briefcase. Odd breakfast table arrangement – bowl of cereal, coffee, and thousands of dollars’ worth of weed. He hesitated for a moment before picking the case up and leaving for work.

**PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**ASSOCIATES CUBICLES**

         Marcus stepped out into a corridor and was walking toward his cubicle with the briefcase in hand. He looked like every other man in the building – bland suit and even blander briefcase. Marcus could see his cubicle but was stopped by Louis Stern stepping out behind Marcus.

“Marcus.” Louis drawled, turning Marcus around. “Where you going?”

“To my cubicle.”

“No. You're not. It's pee-in-a-cup time.”

“I'm sorry,” Marcus chuckled. When he saw that Louis wasn’t kidding, his smile wavered. “What?”

“Drug test. Follow me.” Louis began to walk back down the corridor Marcus had just come from. Marcus hesitated, pointing to his cubile and glancing down at the breifcase.

“Er, I'm just gonna put my stuff back-”

“Now.”

Marcus gave in and followed Louis. They were silent as they walked toward a medical room near H.R.

“Oh, by the way,” Louis spoke up, a cruel grin playing at his thin lips. “My cousin was your year at Harvard and I asked him if he knew you.” He laughed, the humor in his voice not reaching his eyes. “It's so funny. He didn't.”

“Well, what's his name?”

Louis stopped outside the glass door with a big medical red cross painted on the glass door. “Mitch Samberg.”

“Yeah, don't know him. It's a big school.”

“Not really.”

Quickly, Marcus thought back to when he went to the Harvard tour Thomas scheduled him for; the secretary telling him how they get 7,000 applicants a year. Behind her was the noticeboard of the top ten graduates of the 'Class of 2010'.

As Louis walked into the medical room, Marcus grinned and snapped his fingers, recalling Samberg’s name and face.

“Oh, Mitchell. With the slicked back hair? Graduated 7th in the class. Sure, I remember him.”

Louis glanced Marcus up and down, even more suspicious of the associate. He thought his little test would trip him up. Any excuse to get rid of the baby bird under Thomas’s wing.

“Time to face the music.”

**LATER**

       Thomas is standing on the other side of Marcus's cubicle, annoyed to find his underling not at his desk. He was receiving curious glances from the associates, confused on why a founding partner would be in their little hell holes. Thomas leaned over the cubicle wall to use Marcus’s desk phone. He dialed his own line.

_“Office of Thomas Reagan-”_

“Julia, it’s me.”

“ _Yeah, what's up?_

“I gotta get to the Kendrick filing, where the hell is Marcus?”

“ _I don't know._ ”

“Find him.” Thomas hung up a little more forcefully than he should have and walked away. He caught the whispers behind his back from a few interns as he left.

**MEDICAL ROOM**

          An Asian man in a lab coat holding a clipboard hands Marcus a plastic cup with a blue lid. “Leave the cup on the counter.”

Marcus takes the cup and goes to walk into a bathroom, but the technician stopped him, gesturing to the briefcase. “Oh, you'll have to leave that out here.”

“Why?”

“If you take it in there with you, I have to check to make sure you don't have another urine sample.”

Marcus laughed at the ridiculous thought, but then begins to realize the technician is being serious. Marcus nods slightly to make sure, the Asian man does the same back. Marcus looks at Louis uncomfortably, and Louis smiles back mischievously. This day was going to shit fast. He couldn’t trust Louis not to look into the case if he left it out here, but he sure as hell couldn’t take it with him.

Taking the risk, Marcus put the briefcase down on a metal chair outside the bathroom. He held the cup in the air to show Louis and enters the bathroom. Louis looks at the briefcase, then back up at the door.

Minute late, Marcus exits the restroom. Louis is gone, his briefcase is untouched, and the technician is cataloging samples. Marcus picks it the briefcase and nods at the technician as he leaves.

**ASSOCIATES CUBILES**

         Marcus quickly stashes the briefcase in the bottom section of his empty filing cabinet, then shuts and locks it. Thomas arrived seconds ago to lean on the top of the cubicle to look down over Marcus.

“Where you been?” Thomas startles Marcus as he turns around in his chair to face Thomas.

“Hi. Um... getting drug tested actually.”

“The deposition's this afternoon. Before they get here, I want you to grill this woman about her background for anything they might use against her. You got it?”

“Got it.”

“Make her tell you _everything_.”

“Everything,” Marcus repeated, nodding his head.

“Okay.” Thomas left; again, catching the curious glances of the associates.

They turned their eyes to Marcus with amazement and wonder. He tossed them a sheepish wave. It was almost unheard of to have a first year, straight out of law school, be taken under by the founding partner of a firm. And a partner as prominent as Thomas Reagan.

“Okay,” Marcus muttered under his breath. He swiveled back around in his chair slightly, puffing his cheeks and sighs.

**PETERS REAGAN & CLINE RECEPTION**

            The lobby of the firm was like of the building’s seven floors below – glass, steel, and white sandstone walls easily mistaken for ivory. Stepping off the elevators, the firm’s name was mounted in large steel to the wall greeting employees and clients as they exited the elevators. Eleanor though it intimidating.

Behind the solid sandstone reception desk, a very attractive, well groomed, blonde woman smiled pleasantly at her was she walked up. She was wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt, making her look immaculate. The stainless-steal name plate at the desk said her name was Olivia Peirce.

“Welcome to Peters Reagan and Cline. How may I help you?”

“Eleanor Reese for Thomas Reagan.”

Wordlessly, Oliva took picked up a blue tooth ear piece from the desk and placed it in her ear as she rose from behind the desk. She ran her hands over her charcoal pencil skirt making sure it was straight.

“Follow me, please, Miss Reese,” she held out her hand to indicate the direction they were walking.

Olivia led Eleanor past a seating area of cream-colored couches with dark wooden accents and floor-to-ceiling windows lining the back to the building giving the impression they sat amongst the clouds. As they walked, everyone around them moved out of Olivia’s way, starring after them curiously as they past. Eleanor began to think that perhaps Olivia leaving her desk to guide a ‘client’ to their appointment wasn’t the usual.

Where Olivia’s desk is in the center of the floor, Oliva took them to the right down the main corridor to a large corner office. She explained on their walk that both partners have the corner offices on the opposite sides of the hall – Mr. Reagan to the right and Ms. Peters to the left.

Olivia guides Eleanor to Thomas Reagan’s office, standing guard directly in front of it was another elegant white sandstone desk. Instead of another blonde young woman, a Latino woman with beautifully golden tan skin radiating warmth from a cold aesthetic building. Her chestnut hair was softly waving down the back of her white sleeveless sheath dress. A diamond pendant that sparkled when the light caught it hung at the dress’s wide jewel neckline. There was no stainless-steel nameplate on her desk; if one had come this far, then one would know who this woman was.

Her brown eyes glanced up from her computer screen as Oliva and Eleanor approached.

“Thank you, Ms. Peirce.” The woman, presumably Mr. Reagan’s executive secretary, rose from her chair and smiled at the two women before her. She gestured to a small sitting area of white leather chairs tucked away to the side. “Miss Reese, would you wait here, please?”

Like all offices in the building, the wall facing out to the hallway was entirely clear glass window. A metal pull was the only indication that one was _able_ to enter the office, the glass was that seamless. It also meant that Eleanor was able to see into Mr. Reagan’s large office while she waited.

His office had a Mad Men feel with a hint of modern accents. The back wall was comprised of thick, yet clear floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view of the sprawling New York City skyline that looks through the city. It was a stunning vista; Eleanor wouldn’t be able to work with a view like that to distract her.

Whatever walls were not glass or windows, were dark cedar wood paneled. To the left, was a black glass oval table with four black leather chairs around it; behind that hung a painting of a toy girl on the belly on an equally toyish alligator on the wall a black vinyl record player and sound system.

In the center of the room, close to the window, was Mr. Reagan’s desk – black glass and stainless steel, two black leather arm chairs winging the front, and what looked like baseballs were displayed prominently in a glass case at the front of the desk. To the right of his desk was a black leather chaise lounge chair. Beside the chair, against the window, were several basketballs on a wooden stand.

On the right wall was a giant black bookcase that stretched to the ceiling, filled with vinyl records and the occasional case file. A black leather couch was in front of the case; two more black leather arm chairs winged either edge of the glass and cedar wood coffee table.

“Mr. Reagan will see you in a moment,” the executive secretary said, stepping closer to Eleanor. She noticed that Olivia still stood off to the side of the sandstone desk. “May I take your jacket?”

“Yes, please,” Eleanor smiled politely. She set her small brown briefcase on a chair so she could slip out of her rich burgundy blazer.

She was left feeling exposed in her white blouse, finding comfort in the cross-over wrap front and long sleeves. She was fully aware of the arrangement she might enter with the man she was about to meet, but she couldn’t help feel a touch of self-consciousness. When the secretary’s back was turned to hand the blazer to Olivia, Eleanor glanced down at the V-neck cut of the blouse to guarantee not too much cleavage was exposed. Thankfully, only the slightest hint of the tops of her breasts were visible, letting one know she had them.

She was equally conscious of her pants as she took a seat – jeans. _Expensive_ , well-fitting, jeans that set her back a pretty penny. They looked designer and could probably pass for a business casual. Now she was having second thoughts.

“Would you like tea, coffee, water?” the secretary asked, turning her attention back to Eleanor.

“Water, please.” Quietly, Olivia walked away and the secretary returned to her desk, heels clicking on the floor. Moments later, Olivia returned with a tall glass of chilled water.

She handed Eleanor the glass and put a coaster on the glass table beside her. “Her you go, Miss Reese.”

“Uh, thank you, Olivia.” Eleanor smiled back.

The executive secretary gave Olivia a small smile and nod, effectively dismissing her back to the receptionist desk.

Eleanor was honestly taken aback by the treatment she was receiving, never expecting the extra mile the two women were going through. Part of her wanted to assume that was how Thomas Reagan ran his law firm, a way to achieve and retain business in an economy such as this. Another part of her wondered if it was solely for her benefit – to either be dazzled by him in an attempt to impress her or…..or that he was truly doing what a Dominant (Dom) would do. Give her a taste of what to expect from him.

And she had to admit, she liked what she saw so far. It seems Mr. Reagan realizes that it wasn’t just her interviewing him, but that she was scoping him out as well. So far he was passing.

She glanced down at her watch – it was nearly two o’clock, her ‘appointment’ time. She fiddled with her white security pass that had ‘visitor’ firmly stamped in bold red. Taking her nerves for worry, the woman behind the desk spoke up with a reassuring smile,

“Soundproof,” She pointed a manicured finger to Mr. Reagan’s office. “All the offices are. Mr. Reagan takes privacy very seriously.”

Eleanor gave her a small smile in return, letting her know that information helped her. She didn’t have long to wait for Mr. Reagan after that. An attractive, tall man with black hair the slightly curled and dressed in a fine grey suit, white shirt, and black tie walked down the corridor with one hand in his pocket. The way in which the men and women moved out of the way of indicated that he was someone important. The closer he got to the office, the more it confirmed he was indeed Thomas Reagan – that man that would control her, body and mind, for the sake of science.

Here we go…

Eleanor placed her sweating glass on its coaster and stood rather shakily, trying to suppress her nerves. What doesn’t help the situation is her foot catching the leg of her chair as she walks forward to greet Mr. Reagan.

She would have fallen headfirst onto the floor had a pair of gentle, yet firm hands, catch her. They help her stand, guiding her a step or two away from the furniture. She glances up and sees that it was the presumptive Mr. Reagan.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his blue eyes regarding her carefully. Eleanor nods her head and he withdraws his long fingers from supporting her to instead extend in a handshake. “Thomas Reagan.”

“Eleanor Reese.”


	9. Chapter 9

**OFFICE OF THOMAS REAGAN**

**FRIDAY CON’T**

_Here we go…_

            It was two o’clock and Eleanor Marcus Reese should be waiting for him.

            Thomas Reagan noticed a woman sitting in the white sitting area outside of his office as he walked up, men and woman floating around him and out of his way. She placed a glass of water on its coaster and stood as Thomas approached.

            Thomas couldn’t make out the detail of her face, but what he saw so far he liked – business casual attire that was provocative, yet modest in her blouse’s v-cut, her jeans framing her supple legs and curves. The last woman Bedelia set him up with was a toothpick; Thomas was always afraid he’d break her bones if he was too rough. He’d have no such fears with this one; estimating her to be a size eight or ten waist.

            As she took a step forward to greet him, her foot caught the leg of her chair. Clumsiness annoyed Thomas, especially clumsiness for the sake of acting cute; however, he hurried over to her before she could fall headfirst into the floor. With gentle, yet firm hands, he helped her stand. To be safe he guided her a step or two away from the furniture.

            Her brown hair, barely contained by her ponytail, brushed back from her face as she looked up with clear, embarrassed eyes. They were a beautiful color – a dark moss green. For an awful moment, Thomas thought that she could see right through him. They left him feeling….exposed.

            A slight blush crept into her cheeks, an innocent pale rose color that lightened her sun-kissed skin. Thomas wondered if all of her skin was like that – flawless, if she had tan lines, parts of her turning pink underneath the warmth of his hand.

            “Are you alright?” Thomas asked, his voice a touch lower than he expected. When she nodded her head, he withdrew his long fingers from supporting her to instead extend in a handshake. “Thomas Reagan.”

            “Eleanor Reese.” Her full lips were as pink as her blush and Thomas wanted to know if they were just as soft.

            She placed her hand in his and they shake. As their fingers touch, she felt an exhilarating shiver run through her body. She withdrew her hand, unsure of what to make of the connection. Thomas only considered how cool and soft her hand was in his. Her fingers were slender, like that of a pianist. If she played, they had something in common.

            “I suppose we’re off to a good start, then,” a ghost of a smile play at his lips. His voice is warm, possibly amused, but it was difficult to tell from his impassive expression. He stepped back to grasp the metal pull-bar door handle. “After you, Miss Reese.”

           With amused irony, Thomas noticed that Eleanor looked everywhere around his office except him. He wondered how this woman was about to receive her doctorate in two people-oriented fields of study; not to mention the work that she hopes to be doing with him. He sees nothing assertive about her. Although….she could already be playing the part of ‘the good submissive’.

          The thought crossed Thomas’s mind. If so, then she was indeed the bright girl Bedelia said – playing Thomas from the beginning to ensure no bias in her study.

          “Sit,” Thomas directed, waving Eleanor towards the black leather couch in front of the bookshelves. He sank gracefully into a matching black armchair opposite her. For her sake, he kept the coffee table between them as a sort of barrier.

          “Would you mind if I record this?” She asked, reaching into the front pocket of her briefcase.

          Thomas held up two fingers to stop her. “I would.”

          She cocked her head to one side and regarded him intently. “I hear you take privacy very seriously, Mr. Reagan.”

          “I do.”

          She smiled and continued to look through her briefcase, this time taking out both a digital recorder and a pair of documents. She handed Thomas the documents as she set up the digital recorder on the table between them.

           “Nondisclosure agreement,” Thomas said softly, the corner of his lips jerking. He opened the papers and thumbed through. He stopped on the signature page and glanced up at Eleanor. “You’ve already signed.”

           “Yes,” she said simply. “I, too, value my privacy when it comes to my work. Can’t have you blabbing to your friends that you’re my lab monkey.”

          Thomas held her gaze as he took a pen out of his jacket pocket. The polite smile Eleanor held on her lips gently faded under his eyes. He placed the papers on the coffee table and hunched over to sign both copies of the NDA. He kept one on the table and handed the other back to Eleanor. She accepted it and placed it back into her briefcase.

           “May I?” She raised her eyebrow and pointed to the recorder on the table.

           “You may.”

           She hit the red dot and a small green light began to blink innocuously on the screen. They were both equally silent, sitting patiently in their chairs locking eyes with one another. She bit her full bottom lip, drawing Thomas’s eyes away from hers.

           “Mr. Reagan,” she broke the silence. “You were the one that called this meeting.”

           He cocked his head to one side and regarded her intently. One hand was relaxed in his lap, the other cupping his chin and trailing a long index finger across his lower lip. His voice was soft in reply, “To see if I like you, yes.”

           “And what happens if you don’t?”

           “Then I’ll give Dr. Moore a list of names I think would be suitable for your _study_. To be your ‘lab monkey’, as you say.”

           The corner of her mouth pulled into a hidden smile. “How kind of you.”

           “I’m not a kind man, Ms. Reese. First and foremost you should know that. And with this arrangement you wish to enter, I will not be unless necessary.”

            Apart from the seemingly random colorful painting, Eleanor thought Thomas’s office was cold, clean, and clinical with the hint on warmth and comfort hidden deep beneath the surface. She found the same to be true for her potential ‘lab monkey’ sitting gracefully across from her.

            Eleanor smooths a stray hair behind her ear. “I have questions, Mr. Reagan.”

            “I thought you might,” he said, deadpan.

            Her eyes squinted in the corners, her shoulders unconsciously squaring as she sat up in her chair. She’s momentarily surprised. “You’re laughing at me.”

            “Yes.” His eyebrow cocked, daring her to push farther.

            She didn’t take the bait. She took a breath and continued to silently hold his gaze. “How many people know about your…predilections?”

            “Including you,” He lazily flicked his fingers towards the clear windows looking out into the office, “my secretary, my partner, and the people I’ve chosen to spend time with.”

            “No one in your family?”

            “I’m assuming you’re familiar with who they are, my family?” Eleanor nods. “Then you know why.”

            “Control.”

            “I exercise control in all things, Miss Reese,” Thomas said without a trace of humor in his smile. He was hoping to intimidate her. He held Eleanor’s gaze steadily, impassively. Her heartbeat quickens and face flushes; his words a faint promise.

            Thomas say an attractive blush flutter across her face and she bit her lip again. That was her tell - lip biting. He knew he was getting to her.

            “I want to possess things. I want to _deserve_ to possess them,” Thomas continued.

            “You sound like the ultimate consumer.” Her voice was tinged with disproval.

            “I am.” He smiles, but the smile doesn’t touch his eyes. Again, his words sound like a promise.

            “How much do you think that has shaped who you are - your desire for control, your need to keep this part of your life tucked away and separate from your family?”

            “I have no way of knowing.” His tone was stern.

            “You’ve had to sacrifice family life for your work.”

            “That’s not a question.” He’s terse. Eleanor rephrases before Thomas answers. “I have two brothers and two sisters, two nephews and a niece. A father and a grandfather. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that; they’re plenty enough for me.”

            “Are you gay, Mr. Reagan?”

             Ironically, that was a question Thomas’s family wondered at, but wouldn’t ask. He inhaled sharply, but was pleased to catch the mortified cringe Eleanor nearly held back. When pressured by intimidation, Eleanor found she had little filter.

             “No, Eleanor, I’m not.” He raised his eyebrows, an impassive cool gleam in his eyes. He rolled her name around his tongue, liking the way it sounded.

             “I apologize. It’s, um….that was inappropriate.” That was the first time he had used her name. Her heartbeat accelerated, and her cheeks heated up. Nervously, she tucked a loosened hair behind her ear.

             Another tell.

             He cocked his head to one side. “May I ask _you_ a question, Miss Reese?”

             “What is it that you’d like to know, Mr. Reagan?” She was eager to get past the awkward tension she had caused.

            “Soon, you’ll graduate with a PhD in psychology and sociology, both taking several years to achieve. What is it that you’ll do once you learn whatever it is you want to learn from me or another like me?”

            “Explore domination therapy, using consensual pain to treat patients. Perhaps teach a course or two at NYU.”

            He rubs his chin in quiet deliberation, his blue eyes apprising. “Not Columbia?”

            “Better to begin humble, Mr. Reagan.” She smiled, “Also not something you’re not?”

            “No,” he said, returning her smile in part.

            There was a knock at the door and the woman Eleanor assumed was Thomas’s executive secretary stepped in. She remained silent and statuesque until acknowledge by Thomas, turning his head slightly over his shoulder. She took a step forward into the office.

            “Mr. Reagan, your next appointment is here.”

            “We’re not finished here. Mr. Hunt can be kept waiting, please make sure Ms. Webster is comfortable.”

            His secretary hesitates, appearing lost. When he doesn’t hear a response he turns his head slowly to face her and raise his eyebrows.

            “Very well, Mr. Reagan,” she said softly, glancing between Eleanor and Thomas as discreetly and professionally as she could before exiting.

            Eleanor watched her through the glass head back to her desk and picked up the landline.

            “Where were we, Miss Reese?" Thomas said, drawing Eleanor’s attention back to him.

            “Please, don’t let me keep you from anything.”

            “I want to know about you. That is the point of this meeting after all.” His eyes were alight with curiosity. He placed his elbows on the arms of the chair and steeple his fingers in front of his mouth. Eleanor wondered is his purpose was to be distracting.

            “There’s not much to know.”

            “You’ve told me about your after graduation plans.”

            “Yes,” she nodded. “But I still have to get through my final exams.”

            The thought lingered in the back of her mind that she should be studying right now instead of playing twenty-questions with a man that may or may not consensually abuse her for the sake of science.

            “We wouldn’t be talking unless Dr. Moore was confident you’d pass.” There is was again, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. His gaze was intense but all humor was gone.

            Eleanor glanced out the office window and into the hallway. She shook her head. “You’re a busy man, Mr. Reagan. I’m already keeping you from a meeting-”

            “A meeting that can wait.”

            “-and I do have a long walk back to Columbia.”

            “You’re walking back?” He sounded surprised, anxious even. He glanced out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. It had already begun to rain and was irritated at the thought she was willingly walk through it. “I’ll have Julia call you a cab.”

            Eleanor was about to protest but his tone was stern, authoritative. Was he already becoming possessive? Did she get the ‘job’?

            “Did you get everything you need?” Thomas thought he was being transparent in his attempt to prolong her stay, but she didn’t catch on.

            “Yes, sir,” Eleanor said, packing the recorder into her tote. Thomas’s eyes narrow speculatively as the response floors him – two small words that hold such promise. “Thank you for the interview, Mr. Reagan.”

            “The pleasure has been all mine.” His voice as low, genuine. As Eleanor rises, Thomas stands and holds out his hand. “Until next time, Miss Reese.”

            To Eleanor, it sounded more like a challenge, or a threat, rather than a generic farewell. She shakes his hand once more, astounded that the odd current between them was still there.

            “Mr. Reagan.” She nods at him. Thomas moved ahead of her to open the door wide enough for the both of them to exit.

            “Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Reese.” He gave her a small smile, obviously referring to her memorable first impression.

            “That’s very considerate, Mr. Reagan,” Eleanor quietly snapped as she walked into the hallway, her mouth in a hard line. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed his smile widen. Thomas followed her out.

            “Do you have a coat?” Thomas asked as his secretary stood from her desk.

            She was back with the burgundy blazer in seconds. Thomas gently took the jacket from her before she could give it to Eleanor. He held it up and, feeling slightly self-conscious, Eleanor shrugged it on. Thomas placed his hands for a moment on her shoulders, touching the skin at the base of her neck.  

            “Julia, call Miss Reese a cab, please.” He directed his secretary before turning to Eleanor. “I’ll walk you to the elevator.”

            They walked in silence, tension mostly on Eleanor’s part. Just like when Olivia, the front desk receptionist, escorted her to Thomas’s office, heads turned as they passed. Men and woman moving out of the way, second glances being thrown over shoulders, silent whispers exchanged.

             If Thomas noticed, he gave no indication of it.

             They reached the lobby of Peters Reagan and Cline in a short time. Eleanor felt compelled to offer Olivia a smile and small wave. The other woman returned the smile and nodded while she directed a call on the landline to her ear.

             Thomas stepped in front of an empty elevator; empty partially because those who were waiting for it stepped aside. He pressed to button to summon the elevator with his long index finger, the light glowing beneath it. Together, they stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the metal doors.

              The doors open and Eleanor walks in as calmly as she could. When she turns to look at him, he’s gazing at her and leaned against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand on the wall.

               “Eleanor.”

               “Thomas.”

               The elevator doors close, leaving his name hanging in the air between them, sounding odd and unfamiliar, but completely right.


	10. Chapter 10

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

Joanna sat between Marcus and Thomas on one edge of the large glass conference table, opposite of Mr. Hunt, his lawyer and one of his associates. A court reporter sat at the head of the table, acting as sort of a boundary between the two parties. With the natural light coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that acted as walls, there was no need for the overhead light. Many files were spread out on the table, along with a camera aimed at Joanna as she gave her statement.

“I'd been working six months when Mr. Hunt started asking me to work more, order dinner. One night, late, he tried to have sex with me. The next day, I requested a change in assignments. Two months later, I was fired for having a bad attitude.”

Mr. Hunt laughed, shaking his head, as his lawyer took notes. “This is ridiculous.”

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” Joanna hissed. “You're not even supposed to be here.”

“Mr. Hunt has every right to be here.” Hunt’s lawyer corrected her. “Now, Ms. Webster, after working for Devlin McGregor, you then went on to waitress at Hooters. Correct?”

“Yes, I did.”

“A place that advertises the,” Hunt’s lawyer flicked his glance toward Joanna’s sizeable bust, “sexuality of its wait staff, correct?”

Joanna shifted in her seat. “You'll have to ask them that.”

“I’m asking you.”

“And she's not answering.” Thomas said. “Move on.”

“Ms. Webster,” Hunt’s lawyer leaned back in his seat comfortably. This peaked Thomas’s interest – a comfortable lawyer meant a lawyer with a winning hand. A card up their sleeve. Thomas did not like to be sitting on the other side of the table with a comfortable lawyer. “Would you say that you're a truthful person?”

“Yes.”

“So when you said earlier that you had _never_ been arrested for a crime, you were speaking the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.” Hunt’s lawyer smirked. He consulted a piece of paper his associate handed him. “So, in 1993 then, you were _not_ arrested for stealing $1,000 worth of jewelry from the Willow Grove Mall in Pennsylvania?”

Shocked, Joanna’s mouth hung open, gaping for words. She glanced at Marcus, then at Thomas, before facing Hunt’s lawyer. “I-I was 17. That was _one_ mistake, those records were supposed to be sealed!”

Thomas’s jaw set in a hard line. He was not sitting very comfortably right now. He shifted his steely gaze to Marcus, who had just placed his head in his hand. He missed it; something that could make-or-break their case and he missed it.

“Oh, so when you say those records were sealed, what you mean to say is you thought you could get away with a lie?”

“No, that's not it,” Joanna was becoming aggravated, sitting closer to the table. “You're making it seem different than it is.”

“I'm sorry,” Hunt’s lawyer sighed, mocking confusion, “you were arrested in your past and you lied about it here under oath, is that making it seem different than what it is?”

Joanna looked at both Marcus and Thomas again. She doesn't know what to say and neither did they. She shook her head, biting her lip.

“No answer. Alright.” Hunt’s lawyer clicked his pen twice. “Um, let me ask you this, since you've lied here once, what's to make us believe you're not lying about Mr. Hunt?”

Joanna rises from the table and storms out of the conference room. Thomas follows, pushing Joanna’s chair out of his way and forcefully patting Marcus on the shoulder to signal for him to follow, too. Mr. Hunt and his lawyer look extremely smug as they watch the other team leave. Thomas and Marcus step into the hallway and Joanna is nowhere to be seen. Thomas drags Marcus by the arm out of the view of the conference room and pushes him slightly into the white granite wall.

“How the hell did you miss that arrest?”

“I did every background check we have.”

Thomas stepped closer into Marcus’s face, pushing him further up against the wall. “Did you grill her like I told you to?”

“It was a sealed record, Thomas.”

“Dammit, I knew it.” He backed off, blowing out hot air. His eyes were on fire. “ _Fix it_!”

**OUTSIDE PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

Marcus was running to catch up with Joanna on the busy street outside of the building, shoving past multiple people. He reached out to her, calling her name over and over again.

“Joanna. Wait. Wait!”

Joanna didn’t stop.

“This is why I didn't want to testify!” She yelled over her shoulder. “They twist something from a hundred years ago and make me look like a liar. They make it sound like what he did to me didn't happen!”

“Look, it doesn't matter.” Marcus caught up with her enough to match her fast pace as they walked down the street. “I need you to testify tomorrow’s special hearing and keep this case alive. We don't have time to find anyone else before..” Marcus put his hand on her arm to get her to stop walking. “Would you please wait?”

“No, I'm not waiting.” She ripped her arm out of his hand. “You promised this wouldn't happen and it _did_.”

“You never told me you were arrested.”

“Don't contact me again!”

**LATER THAN NIGHT**

Marcus was sitting as his cubicle, the others around him empty, staring at the black briefcase propped up on his desk. He stood, taking the case with him. He dropped his employee I.D card on the desk as he left.

It was over.

**LOBBY**

Marcus exited the elevator in the main lobby. He was almost out of the bay when an elevator behind him dinged, and Thomas Reagan stepped out – hands in pockets, suit jacket unbuttoned, power emanating from him.

“What happened with the witness?”

Marcus kept walking, not looking back as Thomas caught up to him. “Nothing. Nothing happened. I couldn't fix it.”

“So you're gonna quit?” Marcus looked back to see Thomas holding up Marcus’s employee I.D. card.

“It's either that or have Louis Stern fire me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My first day, Louis fired Gary Lipsky for screwing up a case. He said if I did the same thing, I'd be gone just as fast.”

As they passed the night security guard at the lobby secretary desk, Thomas nodded and waved at them.

“That jackass couldn’t fire a cockroach.” In his current mood, Thomas did his best to reassure his associate. “Now go back to the witness's house and you get her to testify again.”

“I tried, there's no way.”

“There's always a way.”

Marcus spun around and yelled back at Thomas, drawing the attention of the security guard, “Then why don't you go and convince her!”

“Because _you_ screwed it up.”

“Oh and you don't give a damn about the client? Right.”

“It's not my job.”

“Does your job include giving a damn about _me_?” Marcus took an angry step toward Thomas, jabbing his chest with his finger. “Because the _least_ you can do is offer to stand up to Louis for me.”

“Everything okay, Mr. Reagan?” The night guard asked, standing up from behind the secretary desk.

Thomas waved his hand, not bothering to look behind him. He was focused in entirely on Marcus standing in front of him.

“Stand up for you?” Thomas repeated, letting out a frustrated sigh. He lowered his voice to a menacing tone. “I put my _ass_ on the line for you. But it turns out, you may have had _the balls_ to get this job, but you don't have _the courage_ to stick it out when it gets tough.”

“That's not true.” Marcus shook his head.

“Isn't it? You've had one foot out the door since you got here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about that briefcase being locked in your desk.” Thomas nodded to Marcus’s hand. Marcus instinctually glanced over Thomas’s shoulder to the security guard on desk, then over his own shoulder to the guards at the doors.

“Yeah, I saw it and I know what it is.” Thomas continued. “It's your backup plan in case this doesn't work out. You can make some quick cash and go right back to the life you told me you didn't want to lead. So if you want to quit, go ahead. But this isn't because of Louis, and it isn't because of _me_. It's because you're afraid you might have to admit that you're not as smart as you think are.”

Marcus looked away. Part of him knew Thomas was right, part of him wanted to punch Thomas in his mouth. So far, he didn’t know which half was winning, but his palm was twitching.

Taking Marcus’s silence as a message, he buttoned his suit jacket and turned to leave. “If you’re here in the morning, I’ll know I still have an associate.”

**MEN’S BATHROOM**

Louis was washing up in the bathroom when Thomas walked in. He stood behind Louis by the doorway and spoke to the other by looking at him in the mirror.

“Hey. I get that you were upset because I hate you and I’m always looking for a reason to write you off, but if you _ever_ threaten to fire someone again, I am going to kick your ass.”

“Hmm,” Louis mused, shaking his wet hands in the sink before reaching for a paper towel. “What are you talking about?

“Don’t play dumb, Louis.” Thomas took step forward. He could see Louis smirking in the mirror. “You ‘fired’ mailroom Gary Lipsky in front of _my_ associate, Marcus Fraiser. _You_ know you don’t have the power of hire and fire, _I_ know you don’t have that power. You plant a fake employee to manipulate the associate-”

Thomas paused a few steps behind Louis, and looked away from the mirror. _That’s it…_ ….that’s how Hunt did it.

Confused, Louis spoke up.

“You know my methods are effective, Thomas.” He turned around to face Thomas while wadding up the paper towel. “That's just how I let the new associates know what's expected-”

“Shut up, Louis.” Thomas cut across the smaller man. He pushed open the door with his elbow on the way out.

“What fuck?” Louis muttered after him, lazily tossing the soiled paper into the trashcan by the door. He missed, but didn’t pick it up as he left.

**APARTMENT OF JOANNA WEBSTER**

Thomas knocks on Joanna's door. She opens it. She becomes immediately hostile when she sees who it was.

“You can save your breath.” She held up her hand. “There's no way I'm testifying at the hearing tomorrow.”

She tried shutting the door, but Thomas smacked his palm onto it and gently pushed against the door to keep it open. “That's not why I'm here.” He dropped his hand and put it back into his pocket. “I know what you did.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You never _worked_ for Devlin McGreggor. And you were never _harassed_ by Mr. Hunt.”

“That's a lie-” Joanna tried explaining, but Thomas cut across her.

“Look, I could tell you I've got the cancelled checks or the wire transfer or whatever smoking gun that exists – I don't. But I _will_ and when I do you'll be going to jail unless you tell me what happened _right_ now.” Thomas took a step forward, inviting himself into her space. “I'm the guy you tell.”

Joanna took a breath, pulling the door closer to her for comfort. Her voice was soft, denying. “All I had to do was waste your time until tomorrow after the hearing. _Please_ , I just needed the money; I don't want to go to jail.”

Thomas leaned against her apartment’s doorframe. “Here's what you're gonna do.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**OFFICE OF THOMAS REAGAN**

**SATURDAY MORNING**

Thomas was reading the _Times_ at his desk, feet up and coffee in hand, when Marcus walked in. He hesitated at the door before taking a breath and pushing through. Thomas glanced over at him and Marcus offered a nod.

“I see you came to work today.” Thomas took his feet off the desk and put his coffee and paper down. “Nice suit.”

Marcus traded in the cheap Sears collection for something dark and tailored with a fat red tie.

“It was a barter transaction. Stopped by Trevor’s and got six of them for one little briefcase.” Marcus stood in front of Thomas’s desk and put his hands in his pockets. “Listen, uhhh….I'm sorry, and-”

“Forget it.” Thomas waved him off.

He stood up and walked to the window, motioning for Marcus to come and stand beside them. It was quiet between them for a moment as they looked down at the street below and watching the ant-sized people scurry about.

“When I first started, Haley rode me so hard I quit once a month. I just told you what you needed to hear.”

“That's just it. I've only ever had one person who told me what I needed to hear.” Marcus turned his head to look at Thomas. He wanted his ‘mentor’ to understand who sincer he was being. “Maybe it's time I started trusting somebody else.”

Thomas, taking these words to heart, cracked a smile and patted the younger man on the shoulder. He turned around to grab a file off of his desk and quietly handed it to Marcus.

“Merry Christmas.”

Marcus was skeptical, but took the file. As he thumbed through it, his eyes widened with delight. “Is this for real?”

Thomas nodded. “You know what to do.”

“Press until it hurts,” Marcus quoted Thomas’s words back to him before taking the file and leaving with a smile on his face. He even winked at Julia as he passed, earning himself an eye roll in return.

They were due in court in an hour and Marcus needed to cobble together his argument with the new evidence Thomas handed him.

**COURT**

The courtroom was empty save Mr. Hunt, his lawyer, Marcus and Thomas. The opposition sat in bench pews, their boredom showing, as Marcus stood before them laying out his argument and presenting evidence to support. Thomas stood back and watched his protégé work; their client, Nancy, sat as far away from Hunt as she could in the front pew.

As Marcus spoke, he handed Hunt’s lawyer copies of the supporting paperwork.

“Wire transfer from _your_ account to Joanna Webster's. Phone records with Joanna Webster _prior_ to her testimony. And, an affidavit stating you paid Ms. Webster to _falsely testify_. Mr. Hunt, harassment is a civil violation; the penalty is money. But witness tampering, that's a crime. And you will go to prison, where I guarantee you'll learn more about unwanted sexual advances than you can _possibly_ imagine.”

Thomas ducked his head pretending to scratch underneath his eye to keep from smiling. He had to say, he was impressed with the kid.

Hunt chuckled. “Do you think this is going to intimidate me? Even if this evidence was credible, who you gonna get to prosecute a small time witness tampering charge, huh?”

“Mr. Reagan,” Marcus spoke over his shoulder but kept his eyes focused on Hunt. “Didn't you graduate law school with the current US attorney in New York?”

This caught Hunt’s lawyer’s attention. He looked up from the paperwork Marcus had handed him.

“In fact I did,” Thomas nodded. “I think he might even be interested in pursuing a case like this.”

“Are you two still close?”

“Well, I was the best man at his wedding, future godfather of their little boy…” Thomas began humbly enough but let the list trail off with a smug smile.

“No you weren't. You're bluffing.” The smug smile Hunt was sporting was no longer there. He was angry, a twinge of fear in his eyes.

“No. I think I've got some pictures, of us at the ceremony. Let's see...”

Thomas took out his phone from his jacket pocket as he walked over to Hunt’s pew. He made sure to stand to the side of Hunt so that his crotch was positioned to the side Hunt’s face. Hunt tried to reposition himself, but Thomas lowered the phone so Hunt would have to stare at Thomas’s crotch to see that Thomas wasn’t bluffing.

“Here we are, must admit, I look very dashing. This is me and his mother; the woman adored me. Here we are at his bachelor party. There were no strippers, it was lame.”

Thomas chuckled, scrolling to a photo of the baby shower – he stood beside a pregnant woman, his hand hovering protectively over her belly, and wore a shirt that read ‘Godfather’ in the same style as the iconic movie Thomas so loved. Hunt looked away, defeated, signaling to Thomas to put the phone away.

“But he can't put guys like you away for sexual harassment and go to strip clubs now, can he?” Thomas smiled, putting his phone back into his jacket pocket. Thomas pushed his pelvis off the edge of the pew where Hunt had laid his hand before walking away towards Nancy.

“All right.” Hunt’s lawyer sighed. He handed Marcus back the copies. “What do you want?”

“An admission of guilt, and a guarantee that you'll obtain treatment before working again.”

The lawyer looked over his shoulder to his client. Hunt nodded in agreement before putting his head in his hand.

“And Nancy gets reinstated _with_ back pay,” Marcus added.

“Fine,” Hunt snapped.

“ _And_ a raise.”

“Okay, all right.” Hunt’s lawyer waved agreement as he stood up from his pew. “Are we done?”

“The kid should be able to grow up without the burden of tuition hanging over his head,” Thomas said, wondering aloud, fiddling idly with his fingernail. He looked up at Hunt and cocked his head. “Don't you think?”

“Which is why you are also gonna pay Nancy an extra $250,000.” Marcus added, going off Thomas’s lead.

Hunt shot out of his seat, ready to throw punches and yell his head off, but his lawyer stopped him. He placed a restraining hand on Hunt’s chest and gently pushed him towards the isle. They stared each other down until Hunt backed off, storming out of the courtroom.

His lawyer took a breath and buttoned his suit jacket. He turned to Marcus and Thomas and nodded. “Gentlemen.”

Marcus kept his professional demeanor until Hunt’s lawyer had left the courtroom, then he allowed himself to let out a breath he’d been holding and shake out his shaky legs. He had no idea being a lawyer was that stressful, that exhilarating. He’d gotten such an adrenaline high from it.

Marcus turned to see if Thomas felt it too. Thomas offered Marcus a congratulatory smile and held out his hand. The shook silently, nodding to one another. Thomas wouldn’t say it, but Marcus knew he was proud.

He turned to Nancy. She stood up from her seat and held out her arms, her face glowing in appreciation.

“Thank you for everything!” She whispered as she embraced the man that saved her and her son. All her prayers had been answered by Marcus and she would forever be grateful to him.

“You're welcome!” Marcus whispered back.

**LATER**

“Why'd you go to Joanna's house?” Marcus asked Thomas as they walked out of the ‘Surrogate’s Court’ wing of the courthouse on the second floor.

“Because I figured it out.”

They walked past the stairs and opted for the elevators. Marcus was all smiles, basking in the glow of their victory, while Thomas kept his usual business-like manner.

“I object.” Marcus chuckled. “I think you did it because you care.”

“I did it because it's my job.”

“Do you admit it?” Marcus glanced over at Thomas, wanting to nudge him. “You care about me. I saw you smile when I showed up for work this morning.”

“I didn't smile. I was thinking of a funny joke.” Thomas handed Marcus Nancy’s case file. “Look, we start on this Monday. I don’t work Sundays.”

“Because you’re a good catholic boy?”

“Because I’m a good catholic boy,” Thomas smirked. He stood at the elevator doors with the others waiting for the elevator.

“Does this mean we're officially a team now?”

“I wouldn't move your things into Wayne Manor yet.”

“So now you're Batman?” Marcus asked cynically.

“Closer to him than Clemenza.”

“Oh yeah, Kilmer.” Marcus scoffed.

“Clooney,” Thomas corrected. The doors opened and people began to file in.

“Did you really quit when you first started?”

“Of course not.” Thomas walked into the elevator. Marcus was walking in rigth behind him, but Thomas turned and gently pushed him back out. As the doors closed in Marcus’s face, Thomas offered him a smile. “I'm not a wuss.”


	12. Chapter 12

**MONDAY**

**SUNTECH DIFITAL**

**STAFF LOUNGE AREA**

Marcus Frasier leaned competitively over the air hockey table in the center of the lounge. His tie was dangerous close to being eaten up by the slotted goal. Wyatt, his opponent and client, managed to get it in when making a goal. Granted, it nearly choked Marcus but it was all for the sake of keeping the client happy. Keeping Wyatt happy also meant letting him win at air hockey.

With a final shot and Marcus’s failed attempt to block, the red disc banged off the side of the table and shot into the slot. Wyatt backed away with his arms raised triumphantly in the air. Marcus hung his head in shame.

“What is that, three in a row?”

“That would be four, actually.” Wyatt corrected him. “Come on. What do you say, we go five outta nine?”

“So you can keep abusing me?” Marcus slid Wyatt the puck and put his hands up in defeat. “No, thank you. I'm done.”

“Oh, come on. I'll spot you three.”

Wyatt tried convincing Marcus but luckily Thomas Reagan was walking in. He nodded to Marcus to get ready. Wyatt watched Marcus take his jacket off the back of a chair and shrug it on. Wyatt turned and saw Thomas walking towards him.

“Game time's over, Wyatt. They're here.”

Wyatt resembled a deer caught in headlights, his eyes grew wide I terror. “They're here?

“You can set up in the conference room,” Thomas directed him.

“Yeah. No, I'm just-”

“Get set up in the conference room.” Thomas repeated himself. Wyatt scurried around Thomas nervously, nearly tripping over the leg of a chair on his way out. “You did let him win, right?”

“It wasn't easy.” Marcus did not look happy. “The guy has the coordination of a two-year-old.”

“I know, the last time these venture capitalists came in, I took him boxing to calm him down. I basically had to punch myself in the face to let him win.”

Marcus chuckled as he adjusted his suit jacket. He shook his head. “I don't get it. I mean, if he's such a genius, why does he get so nervous around a bunch of investors?”

“You spend two years working on a satellite phone that fits in your pocket and then bet the company on it. You'd be a little nervous too, I think.”

A whirlwind of red curls and grey hoodie screeched to an out-of-breath halt between Marcus and Thomas. Wyatt tried explaining between gasps of hair, hunched over with his hands on his thighs. “The prototype... I can't find it…I-I don't know where I-”

Thomas reached over to pull out a device from Wyatt’s hoodie pouch pocket. “You mean this?”

Wyatt sighed in relief as Thomas and Marcus exchanged a glance. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“Fail miserably,” Thomas said mater-of-factly with a smile.

“I would.”

“Is that the-” Marcus was reaching out to touch the prototype, but Thomas gently snatched it out of Wyatt’s hand so Marcus couldn’t touch it.

“The $20 million prototype, yes. And you don't even get to look at this bad boy until after we close the deal today.”

“Wow,” a flutter of commotion outside of the lounge caught Wyatt’s limited attention. “They're like storm troopers.”

Marcus and Thomas both turned to see a parade of business suit and pants-suit clad men and women walk through the corridor. Thomas placed a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder and pushed him forward. He kept his hand there for Wyatt’s support as they walked to the conference room.

“Storm troopers don't write checks. Now all you gotta do is walk in there, show them how the phone works...”

“Right,” Wyatt took a deep breath. “And Suntech Digital will be a new force in global communications.”

“Let's knock 'em dead.”

**MEETING ROOM #8**

“All right,” Wyatt muttered to himself outside of the conference room. Thomas handed Wyatt his prototype back and held open the glass door for him. He was about to enter, but stopped short in the doorway.

“Wait, wait.” Thomas held up his hand to stop Marcus. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Into the room with the people.” Marcus lamely said as he took a few steps back to get out of Thomas’s personal space.

“Wrong, that's the adult table in there. And you haven't earned the privilege yet.”

“But I played air hockey with him—“

“You need to go back to the office and file a patent for the phone.”

“A patent?” Marcus chuckled nervously. “I-I don't know how to file a patent.”

Thomas shrugged, unsympathetic. “Figure it out.”

“Can't we do that after—“

“No, and you keep talking, I'm gonna start billing you. And my time runs $1,000 an hour.”

“But isn't this _our_ time, Mr. Hand?” Marcus smirked.

Thomas was speechless for a moment. “I stand corrected. Your Fast Times at Ridgemont High quote… _that_ proves you belong at the adult table.”

“Hey,” Marcus called out as Thomas turned away. “That's a great movie. And it spoke to a generation-”

Marcus’ pleas were cut off by the door clicking shut in his face.

**PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**DELPHINE LAURENT’S OFFICE**

“Hey, you busy?” Marcus strolled in with a black folder.

Delphine Laurent sat at her desk starring intensely at her computer. She didn’t bother glancing up, just held up a delicately French manicured finger to signal him to wait. She looked away from her screen for a moment and Marcus saw that as an opportunity to get her attention.

“Okay, have you ever filed a patent before? I just got back from this meeting with Harvey and he wants me to file this patent, but I have no idea what that paperwork looks like.”

Delphine put her pen down and got out of her chair. As she walked to the door, Marcus led the way, walking backwards to talk to her. “So, any help in this arena would be re-”

Delphine closed the door behind him as soon as he crossed the threshold. She gave him a wink and went back to her desk.

“Did Harvey call you and tell you to do that?” Marcus yelled through the thick glass, but she continued to ignore him.

**ASSOCIATE’S BREAK ROOM**

“If it isn't the golden boy!” A rather loud voice startled Marcus as he walked into what he thought was an empty break room. Another associate Marcus has seen around, a man of medium height and build with brown hair and a below-average face, was sitting at a table with a cup of coffee.

“You're Harvey's project, right? What's your name?”

“Marcus.” He grabbed a Pellegrino water from the fridge and unscrewed the top. “Marcus Frasier.”

“Gregory Boone.” The man nodded. “So what are you doing here? Weren't you signing some big deal this afternoon downtown?”

“Well, evidently I haven't _earned_ the privilege yet.” Marcus said snidely. He was walking back out of the breakroom when Gregory said something that piqued his interest.

“Get the adult table speech?”

“Yeah,” Marcus turned around and leaned against the doorway. “Instead of watching the deal close, I get to file the patent.”

“Yeah, those suck.” Gregory offered his sympathies.

“Wait, you—“ Marcus pushed off the doorway and walked to Gregory’s table. “You've done one of these before?”

Confused, Gregory eyes Marcus. “Like 100. Why?”

**ASSOCIATE’S CUBICLE**

Marcus was sitting at his desk, earbuds in, and scanning his computer screen when Delphine strolled up to him. Just as she had done with him, he mockingly held up his index finger to stop her.

“Uh, uh, uh, uh.”

Delphine rolled her eyes and bit back her smirk. Marcus let her wait a couple more seconds until his song was over. He pulled out his earphones and smiled up at Delphine.

“Now. It's okay, you don't have to apologize. I took care of it. I negotiated a deal to get it done.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Gregory Boone. He agreed to file it for me. And all I have to do is proof his Bainbridge briefs.”

“Ah.” Delphine chuckled and held up a white keycard. At the top was the firm’s name, below that read ‘PRINT ROOM’. “‘Zat explains why ‘ee said to give you ‘zis. And why ‘ee called you a, how you say….” Her lips turned up into a wicked smirk. “ _’Sucka’_.”

“He called me a what now?”

**PRINTING ROOM**

“Marcus Frasier,” Delphine ceremoniously opened the door to the Printing Room and held her hand out in a grand sweeping gesture. “Allow me to introduce you to ‘ze Bainbridge briefs.”

The front room of the Printing Room consisted of six industrial office printers in constant printing motion; a flurry of staff buzzing around the room putting printed paper into boxes all around. It was utter organized chaos.

“Which stack?”

“All of ‘zem.”

Marcus continued to stare in utter disbelief. He racked his hand through his hair in frustration. “Wait a minute, are these all—“

“Still printing, oui. I would give it about a ‘af hour.”

“Um...okay. That's six printers, 23 pages a minute, 30 minutes.” He turned around to face Delphine. Horror clouded his disbelief. “That's 4,140 pages.”

“Plus all ‘zis.” An intern wheeled a steel chart in front of Marcus that was already stacked with spiraled folders. “Which means ‘ze next time you negotiate a deal, I would suggest to get your facts straight.”

“Uh... I am a sucker.” Marcus kicked his head back and sighed.

“Mm-hmm.” Delphine agreed. She turned on her heel and left. She wasn’t about to get roped into this.

“When did that happen?”


	13. Chapter 13

**TUESDAY - MORNING**

**COFFEE STAND**

            Marcus Frasier handed over a five dollar bill to Josh, the faithful vender always stationed outside of Peters Reagan & Cline’s building in the morning. Josh handed Marcus a blue cup of coffee and a packaged muffin with a smile. As Marcus was turning away, a smug voice called out,

           “Nice of you to join us this morning.”

            Thomas Reagan, dressed impeccably as always, this morning in a grey wool three-piece suit and complimentary burgundy tie, strolled up to his young associate with his hands in his pockets. His black hair swept back and to the side with a defined side part at his hairline. All Thomas needed was a pack of smokes and a failing liver and Don Draper would be proud.

“For your information, Mr. Sunshine, I've been here all night proofing.”

Marcus looked the part – the baby blue dress shirt from yesterday was unbuttoned at the top, wearing no tie, and slightly wrinkled. There were dark circles underneath his hazel eyes there were almost a purplish bruise in color. His bronze hair was in need of a comb, and trim.

As Thomas walked up, he took the blue coffee cup out of Marcus’ hand and continued walking towards his building.

“That belongs to-” Marcus’ words cut short as Thomas put the cup to his lips and drank. “Okay.”

“Where's my confirmation?” Thomas asked over his shoulder as Marcus lagged behind him.

           “What?” Marcus jogged up to Thomas until they were in step with one another.

“The fact that you don't know _already_ concerns me.”

“Oh, you mean the patent thing?”

“’The patent thing’” Thomas verbally air-quoted, “is the only piece of paper that's holding up our deal from yesterday.” Thomas paused to look to his left and squarely into his associate’s eyes. “Where is it?”

Marcus looked away. “It's on my desk.”

“Well,” Thomas stopped outside his building and tossed the empty coffee cup into a trash can before turning to Marcus. Marcus didn’t like the half-smile Thomas was giving him. “If it's not on mine by the time I get back, I'm gonna feed you to Louis.”

Thomas turned and walked away towards the sleek black Audi A3 Prestige sedan silently humming by the curb. Standing beside the car was Thomas’s equally silent…..whatever he was. Marcus was still figuring the tall, physically intimating man out. Carson opened the rear passenger door for Thomas, and shut it behind him before walking across the hood to the driver’s seat.

Marcus watched them leave, muttering under his breath, “No problem.”

Only there was a problem – he didn’t have Thomas’s confirmation.

**ASSOCIATE’S CUBICLES**

            Marcus rushed into the office as fast as he could without drawing too much attention to himself. He threw on his navy suit jacket, buttoned up his shirt, and clipped on a tie he kept in his desk. He didn’t know when Thomas would be back so the clock was tick-tick-ticking on Marcus’s lifespan and tie tying took up too much of it. The uncertainty was making his anxiety itch.

What he wouldn’t give to smoke….

He rushed up to Gregory Boone’s cubicle and placed his hands on the class tops. “Please tell me that you filed that—“

“Patent?” Gregory didn’t both to look up from his computer as he sighed, couldn’t having cared less. He held up a finger and pointed daintily to his computer. “No, not yet. I _am_ busy.”

“I gave it to you yesterday!” He whispered fiercely, looking around to make sure no one heard him.

“At the same time I gave you my Bainbridge briefs, which you haven't finished.”

Marcus leaned closer over the cubicle. “I was here _all night_ , and I barely got through _half_.”

“And I was on hold for almost 11 minutes before I gave up on your patent,” Boone countered childishly. “So what's your point?”

Marcus ran a frustrated hand through his hair, scrubbing the base of his neck with the palm of his hand. “I _swear_ I will finish those filings, but you have to give me this patent confirmation before Mr. Reagan gets back.”

“Sorry, Golden Boy. Deal's a deal.” Noticing Marcus’s eyes kept shifting to the door every couple minutes, Boone smiled and tapped his own watch for emphasis. With a sigh, Marcus stalked off to the archive’s room.

**ARCHIVE’S ROOM**

            Yellow highlighter cap in mouth, the marker in hand, Marcus flew through the briefs. He’d occasionally mark sections in blue pen, place colored tabs on different sections, jot notes on a yellow legal pad, or consult New York Supreme Court rulings. The coffee pot in front of his was empty and turned over, the half-eaten ham and mayo sandwich uncomfortably room-temperature.

“What do you think you're doing?” The familiar voice of the firm’s Satan drifted over Marcus like a bucket of ice water. Cap still in mouth, Marcus looked up at Louis Stern, standing clad in black and hands shoved in his pocket, waiting for an answer.

“Uh...” Marcus quickly took the cap out of his mouth before it fell pathetically out of it. “I'm proofing briefs.”

“Why?”

“Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, there is.” As Louis talked, he walked over up to Marcus’s table. That's Gregory's responsibility, why are you handling it?”

“Oh, I...Volunteered.” He cleared throat and looked back down at his work before Louis could tell he was bullshitting.

Louis drummed his thick, sausage-like fingers on the table. “He didn't pawn it off on you?”

“No. No.” Marcus looked up. He was normally decent at lying, but Louis creeped him out. Marcus instead stammered out his excuse. “I mean, he didn't even want me to do it, but you know, I-I-I had some extra time. So I insisted.”

Louis chuckled, dropping a blue file onto the desk. When he looked up to Louis questioningly, Marcus was further unnerved by the man’s smile – his thin lips stretched over too large teeth; his lifeless, watery black eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Congratulations. You've shown loyalty to your fellow associates. I know Gregory tricked you into doing his work. I wanted to see how you react when pressed about it. You held up. I respect that.”

“Thanks?”

“See,” Louis placed a thick finger on the file before Marcus could take it. “Now I don't understand something. If you didn't know how to file a patent, then why didn't you just run to Thomas?”

“He was busy,” Marcus scoffed before he could stop himself. He didn’t think he’d be on Thomas’s Christmas card list, but he definitely didn’t want to be on Louis’s.

“But you see, Marc, that's why you come to see me.” Louis took a seat on the edge of the table. Marcus quickly got up to file away the brief he finished. He heard Louis sigh behind him. “Look, Marc, I know... I can come across a bit... prickly. But we're a _team_ here. That means I'm here to help.”

Marcus considered it for a moment. He truly did need help, only his supposed mentor wasn’t providing any. Marcus didn’t like or trust Louis; however, he didn’t like failing more.

“Okay, all right. So can you help me now?

“I already have.” Louis picked the blue file off the desk and handed it to Marcus. Inside of it, Marcus quickly discovered, was his patent filing.

“Are—“ Marcus’s face quickly changed from weary caution to unbridled gratitude. Grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his chair, Marcus rushed out the door, calling back, “Thank you, Louis!”

What the young man didn’t know was that he was a pawn in Louis’s game. The older man would have felt sorry for him, but Louis had greater concerns. Thomas Reagan being many of them.

**JULIA’S DESK**

            Marcus casually strolled up to her desk, glancing behind her to mercifully notice Thomas was still out. His smile widened.

           “Julia, blue is your color.”

She giggled, amused. “What do you want, Marc?”

“Can I put this on his desk?”

She quickly glanced up at the file before returning to her work. “Yes.”

“Will you tell him I put it there hours ago?”

“What time you want me to say?” Julia leaned closer, lowering her voice. Marcus copied her.

“11:00 am?”

“Absolutely,” she winked at him reassuringly, causing Marcus to sigh in relief. “And then maybe I can use my access to his bank accounts. To buy myself a house in the Hamptons.”

Catching the wicked gleam in her eyes, he tried to bargain with her. “12:15?”

“ _No_ ,” She mouth the words dramatically, slowly moving her head side-to-side.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Marcs muttered under his breath as he stormed dejected into Thomas’s office.

**HARDWARE STORE**

Phone in hand, Thomas pored over the executive summary background for the hundredth time since receiving it from Dr. Bedelia Moore. He was looking for some insight into his new ‘student’. Something about Eleanor Reese stuck in his mind; having replayed their interview over in his head over the weekend. How she struggled between being assertive and submissive, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, biting her lip…

            The lip biting got to him especially.

            Taking a slightly early lunch break in an effort to focus, Thomas stopped in his favorite mom-and-pop hardware store. He needed a distraction. He often forgot the possibilities a hardware store presented to someone like him – cable ties, masking tape, and five yards natural filament rope. Whatever he couldn’t DIY or modify, he needed to buy online. Especially specialty items.

            Thomas knew it would lead to this since meeting Eleanor on Friday. He knew he’d have to see her again. He’d known it since she uttered his name as the elevator doors closed between them. She sparked something in him a submissive hasn’t been able to in years.

            A challenge.

            Thomas waited four days to see if his initial feelings would subside. In a way they did; but he was becoming restless nonetheless. His stop into the hardware store intended to be a quick fix, but instead turned out to make matters worse.

            Thomas had never readily pursued a woman before. The women Bedelia put him in touch with understood what was expected of them. Eleanor was undoubtedly interested, but Thomas’ fear now was whether or not she was going to make a good submissive. If he wasn’t going to get any satisfaction out of this little science experiment, then it wasn’t worth his time or energy.

            She was sweet, polite, and beautiful, with all the physical attributes Thomas values in a submissive. Was Eleanor Reese worth it?

            The question was for his therapist, Solomon Roth. The answer could only come from the source. His thumb hovered over the number pad on his screen. He’s already memorized her number, it was only a matter of typing.

            If she did answer, what would he say? _Are you sure you’re up to being tied up, played with, and violently fucked? All for the sake of ‘science’ and a stack of papers?_ She claimed she was prepared for it, but saying so and do so are two entirely separate things.

            How should he start? With dinner, rather than an interview….now that would be novel. Taking a prospect out to dinner. Like a date? Would she accept?

            Better to start out small and work our way up. Coffee seemed simple enough.

            Fuck waiting. He typed in her number.

            She answers. “ _Eleanor Reese, speaking.”_

            “Miss Reese, its Thomas Reagan.”

            “ _Mr. Reagan,”_ she was soft-spoke after a brief pause, her breath hitching. Was she nervous about his calling? “ _It’s nice to hear from you.”_

            “Are you available tomorrow? To meet and….talk.”

            “ _Uh, y-yes_.” She cleared her throat. “ _Yes, I am. When would you like me at your office?”_

            “Not here. I thought we could meet over coffee. Is that alright?”

            _“Yes.”_

            “There’s a coffee shop down the street from your work. Nine thirty tomorrow morning?”

            Thomas could practically hear her smile through the phone. _“As unsurprised I am that you know that, nine thirty would be perfect, thank you.”_

            “I look forward to it, Miss Reese.” Thomas hung up the phone before she could sense his excitement and pleasure. Leaning back against the back seat of the car, he stared at the sky through the window and ran both his hands through his hair.

            His phone vibrated against his inner thigh, pulling him out of his head. He had half the mind to think it was Eleanor calling him back. Glancing at the caller ID dispelled all thoughts of pleasure and brought back business.

            “Reagan,” he answered on the second ring, his tone clipped and cold. It wasn’t long before the other voice on the line had his attention. “What?!”

            His shout caused Carson to stir in the driver’s seat ahead of him. His flicked his gaze to Thomas in the rearview mirror. Thomas gave him a nod, indicating Carson to start the car.

            “Office,” Thomas called to Carson before turning back to his phone. “Tell me again….I don’t care how many times you have to say it; you’ll be saying it again and again until I’m fucking satisfied.”

**LOUIS STERN’S OFFICE**

Marcus rapt twice on the open door of Louis Stern’s office. Louis sat on a black couch, staring down at an open file on his coffee table. Marcus cautiously stood in the doorway, prepared to flee if necessary. “You wanted to see me?”

“Sit down.” Louis gently patted the cushion beside him. Louis’s silent contemplation unnerved Marcus, but he sat down. “I looked through your work on the Bainbridge briefs. Spectacular.”

Marcus scoffed, partially relieved.

“You caught the discrepancies between listed assets and potential assets,” Louis continued. “That had a huge impact, Marc.”

“Yeah, I know. Millions.” Marcus scratched the phantom itch on his palm. “But anyone would've caught that, right?”

“Out of the 50 associates that are under purview, not one of them would've caught that. You just have this eye for detail, Marc. I mean, no wonder Reagan's so crazy about you. It's amazing. I mean, I really, really, seriously appreciate that.”

“Hey, thank you, Mr. Stern. T-That's nice.” For the first time since taking this job, Marcus truly felt appreciated. What he wouldn’t have imaged is that it came from Louis.

“You know that I pick a... _pony_ out of the herd every year, don't you?”

“A pony?” The confused skepticism on Marcus’s face caused Louis to chuckle.

“Oh, yeah. Someone who shows potential. Stamp my own little brand on him. Are you that pony, Marc?”

“I-I...work for Mr. Reagan.” Marcus said slowly. He didn’t know how not to awkwardly fumble around this.

“As you should.” Louis nodded, once again appreciating the loyalty Marcus was showing. “Well, listen, I have some work to get to. So maybe we can meet for lunch tomorrow at the club. Say, 1:00pm?”

As Louis stood, Marcus stood and began walking to the door. Louis followed him.

“Uh, you know, tomorrow-”

“I know I just posed that as a question, but I really didn't mean it that way.” Before Marcus could refuse a second time, Louis shut the glass door on him.

**ASSOCIATE’S CUBICLE**

**MARCUS’S DESK**

The associates were particularly quiet and studious when Marcus walked in. Normally there was a little chatter, maybe some light background music to drown out the unpleasant hum of the vents above them, but there was nothing. He found the cause of the dramatic behavior switch waiting for him in his cubicle, leaning back in Marcus’s chair with a thumb pressed under his chin.

“Hey, what's up?” Marcus greeted Thomas. Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus noticed an associate or two glance up in disgust that he would address their tip-top boss like that. Marcus ignored them and sat on the edge of his cubicle, not expecting Thomas to get up.

“I just heard from Wyatt. He got a response from the patent office.”

“And?” Marcus pressed when Thomas didn’t continue. He briefly caught a flash of emotion flitter across Thomas’s face before it returned to being blank. It was too fast for Marcus to identify, but he had a feeling it wasn’t good by the way Thomas’s jaw was set.

“It's been denied.”

“What?”

“Evidently, there was a _similar_ claim.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Somebody beat us to it?”

“No, someone beat _you_ to it.” Thomas watched as realization dawned on Marcus. “They filed less than 24 hours ago, which means you filed _a day later_ than you said you would.”

“I tried to tell you that I didn't know how to do that-”

“And I told you to figure it out-”

“And I did, and it got filed-”

Thomas stood imposingly in front of Marcus, stopping their game of cutting-across. “After _you lied_ and said you'd already followed through.”

Marcus looked away from Thomas. He knew he screwed up, big time. He could handle that. He couldn’t handle the look on Thomas’s face – devoid of any emotion for Marcus. He breathed deeply, keeping his eyes on his feet.

“Okay, what's gonna happen now?”

When Thomas spoke, his tone was calmer that before. He was well practiced at reining in his emotions. He delivered clear, precise instructions slow enough so that Marcus couldn’t misunderstand. “I suggest you get on the phone, call the patent office, and find out who beat us to it. Then you're gonna have Julia find any judge who will listen, so we can get an injunction, and stop whoever it is from launching their product first.”

“Okay, got it,” Marcus nodded empathically. He was determined not to fuck this up….well, anymore that he already has.

Thomas took a step back to button his suit jacket. “Now I've gotta call Wyatt and calm him down. You think that's gonna be a walk in the park?”

Thomas was beginning to walk away when Marcus called after him. “Hey, Thomas...”

Marcus using his first name in a room full of people, especially those who worked beneath him, made Thomas stop. When he turned to his associate, he raised an eyebrow subtly reprimanding Marcus. Marcus nodded in understanding but pushed on with his question.

“Did you tell him it was me?”

Thomas was quiet a moment before answering. “Why would I do that, Mr. Frasier?”

Thomas turned back around and left. The bullpen remained quiet for some time, a handful of associates glanced at Marcus every once in a while. Only one smug smirk caught Marcus’s eye.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**WEDNESDAY MORNING**

**OSWALD PSYCHIATRY - 1155 PARK AVE.**

It takes Thomas all of three seconds to spot Eleanor. She’s hunched over her desk, intently staring back and forth between her computer screen and a file open before her. She was picking at her bagel. Absentmindedly, she wiped a crumb from the corner of her lips and into her mouth and sucks on her finger. It was only for a moment, but his body responded.

She was thoroughly absorbed by her task, and it gave him time to study her. Salacious thoughts from earlier aside, she was unquestionably attractive. His memory of her does her no justice.

She looked up and froze. Her gaze was unnerving, just as it was when he first saw her. She pinned him with a perceptive stare – shock, Thomas hoped – and he didn’t know if it was a good or bad response.

What she was staring at was his appearance: white dress shirt open at the collar, grey flannel pants that hung from his hips, matching suit jacket draped over his arm. She was wondering where his tie was when this voice pulled her out of her head.

“Miss Reese.” His voice was warm and husky. He smiled, and for a moment Eleanor could see his guard slip.

“Mr. Reagan,” she said, breathy and flustered. _A good response then_ , Thomas thought. She spared a glance to the digital clock on her screen. “Am I late? Did I miss-”

“No,” Thomas shook his head. “I came to collect you myself. I hope this is a pleasant surprise?”

Her lips are still parted in surprise, and Thomas resisted the surprising urge to tip her chin up and close her mouth.

“Unexpected,” She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders like she did in the interview, and smiled. It wasn’t an unpleasant smile, but wasn’t one that quite reached her eyes. “But pleasant.”

She closed her file, put her screen to sleep, and tossed away her half-eaten bagel. As she stepped out from around her desk, Thomas was able to see what she wore - white silk crepe blouse accented at the front with a ruffle finished with black piping, jewel neckline, and long sleeves tucked delicately into black high-waisted trousers. Long legs, curved waist, and supple bust. Her hair was pinned up today, leaving her beautiful face clear.

“After you, Miss Reese.” Thomas allows her to fall into step ahead of him. As he catches up to her, he asked how long she’s worked here - “Four years.”

They walk together down the wide corridor to the elevators. She stopped to bend down and retrieve scraps of paper not far from the trash can. She muttered something under her breath as she deposited them in the can.

Thomas raised an eyebrow, amused. “Were you a Girl Scout?”

“Organized group activities aren’t exactly my thing, Mr. Reagan.”

“What is your _thing_ , Miss Reese?” At the elevators, he presses the call button. The low hum coming from behind the door filled the silence.

“Books,” she breathed as if it was the most obvious thing about her.

“What kind?” He cocked his head to one side.

“The usual classics. British literature, mainly.”

The bell rings and the doors slide open. A young couple locked in a passionate embrace jumped apart, surprised and embarrassed, staring guiltily in every direction except Thomas and Eleanor’s. Eleanor recognized them as Dr. Howel’s couple therapy’s patients. It seemed to be working well for them.

Thomas and Eleanor step in. Out of the corner of his eyes, Thomas could see Eleanor struggling to keep a straight face. She opts instead for starring at the floor. Eleanor glances up at Thomas through her lashes to see that he, too, had a hint of a smile on his lips. The young couple said nothing, and they travel down to the first floor in embarrassed silence. There isn’t even any bland music coming from the overhead speakers.

Thomas was relieved when the doors opened and could tell that Eleanor was surprised when he took her hand in his. Behind them, they could hear the suppressed, embarrassed giggles of the couple behind them.

“What is it about elevators?” Thomas muttered. There was something wholesome and naïve about their giggling that was charming. To Thomas, Miss Reese seemed that innocent. He began to reconsider his agreement with Bedelia as they walked out onto the street.

Parked on the side of the street was the black sedan with Carson sitting in the driver’s seat. Undoubtedly, there was a Louis L’Amor western sitting in his lap. Thomas nodded to Carson as they strolled past towards the street corner. Carson nodded back. He had a solid view of the café through both the rear view and side mirror.

Thomas doesn’t let go of her hand until they reach the door of the coffee house. He pulls it open for her to step inside.

“Why don’t you choose a table while I get the drinks? What would you like?”

“I’ll have Earl Grey, bag out.”

He raised his eyebrow. “No coffee?”

She shook her head with a rueful smile. “I don’t like coffee.”

He smiled. “No coffee. Got it. Sugar?”

“No thank you. Honey, preferably packet.

“Anything to eat?” She shook her head and he headed to the counter.

He waited in line while the two matronly women behind the counter exchange ridiculous pleasantries with all their customers. It was infuriating.

“Hey, handsome, what can I get you?” The older woman asked with a twinkle in her eye.

“Coffee with steamed milk. Earl Grey tea, bag out. Two honey packets and a blueberry muffin, please.”

 While he paid, the other woman brought out the drinks, muffin, and packets. When he wound his way to Eleanor’s table, she was staring down at her intertwined fingers.

 “Penny for your thoughts?”

She jumped slightly as he set down her tea and packets. He sat across from her, leaning back in his chair and holding his coffee in his lap.

“This is my favorite tea.”

Thomas made a mental note. He watched her dunk the tea bag in the steaming cup and fished it out moments later, placing the used and messy bag on the saucer. She then ripped open both honey packets and poured it in. His mouth twitched in amusement. _She likes it weak and sweet,_ he thought.

“Do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend?” She nearly chokes on her tea. Her brows knit together, forming a small _v_ in between her eyes. She eyed the muffin as is long fingers deftly peeled back the paper.

“Not anymore.”

“Anymore?” Thomas silently offered her the muffin across the small table. Which was it, boyfriend or girlfriend?

She shrugged at his question, but reached out and took a small bit of the muffin. When she spoke, her voice was hesitant and she stared down at the morsels in her hands. “He didn’t… _approve_ of where my education was taking me, where I wanted my career to go. He didn’t want me involved with men who enjoyed violent sex. To be polite, he thought it immoral and unladylike.”

“So do most people.”

“We’re not like most people, Mr. Grey.”

“No we are not, Miss Reese. No we are not.” Thomas said softly, pausing a moment to tear off another piece of the muffin. “What do you think?”

Thomas slid the muffin across to her. As she spoke, she tore off a piece. “I think this lifestyle is a way to escape reality and explore hidden desire. I would say ‘safely’ but that depends on the participant’s limits and the partner they’re with.”

She popped a small piece of the muffin into her mouth. She chewed as she considered her thoughts. “In a way it acts as a mirror – reflecting who we are yet also shaping what we are to become. There are healthy and ethical ways to consensually combine sex and pain. However, consent is not enough. It also requires self-knowledge, communication, and emotional maturity in order to make the sex safe and mutually gratifying.”

“Your position is eloquent and well-informed.” Thomas smirked.

“It’s my job to be.” There was a cool undercurrent to her otherwise polite tone.

“Did I offend you?” He’d be surprised if he had.

“No.” Before Thomas could respond, she added candidly, “but you’re very high-handed.”

Thomas’ thoughts on Eleanor bounced between submissive and challenging. He murmurs, “I’m used to getting my own way, Eleanor. In all things.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she murmured back. She glanced down at her hands, fiddling with her wrist watch.

“Please don’t look down. I like to see your face.” Eleanor glances up at him, and Thomas gives her an encouraging smile. He nods. “You’re very honest.”

“Since I’m being honest, why haven’t you asked me to call you by your first name?”

“The only people who use my first name are family, few close friends, and my priest. That’s the way I like it.”

Thomas remembered her leaving his office in the elevator, and how his name sounded coming from her smart mouth. Was she deliberately antagonizing him? He still hadn’t asked her to call him ‘Thomas’. He _was_ a control freak, there was no other explanation. Eleanor takes a sip of her tea, and Thomas eats another small piece of his muffin.

“Are you an only child?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell me about your parents.”

She rolled her eyes and Thomas had to fight the urge to scold her. Eleanor wondered why he wanted to know this. It was so dull. “My mother lives in Georgia with her newest husband, Carl.”

“Your father?”

She shrugged apathetically. “Left long before I was born.”

“I’m sorry.” A fleeting, troubled look crossed his face. Her eyes were clear and bright, and Thomas knows that she has no problems or traumas with an absent father. Her relationship with her mother remains to be seen. “And your mother remarried?”

She snorted. “You could say that. I’ve always kept my mother’s maiden name, though.”

“You’re not giving very much away, are you?” Thomas said dryly.

Her lips softened when she smirked. “Neither are you.”

He chuckled. “My family and its history is rather public knowledge in this city. Yours, however, is a mystery.”

“My mother is a wonderfully incurable romantic. She is currently on husband number two, but there have been plenty of failed engagements.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow at her tone, but it softened as she continued to speak. Eleanor’s mother was embracing hope over experience. Thomas wondered if Eleanor was like her mother. He wouldn’t ask her; if she says yes, then their ‘arrangement’ has no hope.

“I miss her. She has Carl now and I hope he’s enough. I like him plenty, but when my mother’s…. _schemes_ don’t go as planned she’ll need someone to help pick up the pieces.”

Eleanor smiled fondly. She hasn’t seen her mother in person for nearly four years; skype and facetime calling excluded. Thomas watched her intently, taking the occasional sip from his mug.

“Tell me about _your_ parents.” She attempted to divert the conversation away from herself.

“Like I said – I’m from a very public family. My father, Frank, is the city’s police commissioner like his father, Henry, before him. I have four siblings, one of whom is deceased, and two nephews and a niece.” He shrugged. “What more is there?”

Avoiding the obvious and morbidly depressing question, she settled for, “What do your siblings do?”

“My older and younger brothers are cops. My older sister is a district attorney. My sister-in-law is a nurse.” Under his breath, Thomas added, “Tel père, tel l'enfant.”

“You speak French?”

“Spanish and Italian, too. Have you ever been? To France, I mean.”

“I’ve never left the mainland.” The cadence in her voice falls, tinged with regret.

“Would you like to?”

“To France?” Eleanor practically squeaked. Her face brightened with excitement. “O-Of course. But it’s the U.K that I’d like to visit.”

Thomas cocked his head to one side, running his finger across his lower lip. “Because?”

“It’s home to some of the greatest literary works. To see the places that inspired those authors to write such compelling books. That would be….”

As he thought trailed off, an alarm sounded on Thomas’ phone. The sudden shock of it drew them both out of their content bubble inside the comfortable coffee shop. He quickly shut off the alarm and glanced at the phone’s clock. He needed to leave Eleanor soon so that he would be in court on time. He would undoubtedly be getting a panicked call from Wyatt soon.

“I have to be getting to court soon. May I walk you back?”

“Of course. Thank you for the tea, Mr. Reagan.”

“It was my pleasure, Eleanor.” As he said it, he realized the last twenty minutes had actually been that – pleasurable. He gave her a dazzling smile and held his hand out to her to take, leading them out of the coffee shop. They stroll back to the psychiatry office in near comfortable silence. There was a thought in the back of Thomas’ mind that couldn’t shake how agreeable her hand felt in his.

“When are your exams?”

“They start Tuesday.”

They’re back at the intersection, across the road from the office.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Eleanor blurted out of the blue. She saw Thomas’ lips quirk up in a half smile, and peered down at her.

“No, Eleanor, I don’t. I’m not the boyfriend type,” he added softly.

The walking signal flashed green and Eleanor took a step forward. Just as in Thomas’ office Friday, her black heel caught in the broken cracks on the sidewalk and stumbled head first into the road. Behind her, Thomas yelled.

He tugged her back by the hand he was holding so hard that she fell back against him just as a cyclist whipped past. He narrowly missed her, heading the wrong way up a one-way street. He held her tight against his chest, her hand clutching his bicep. She inhaled sharply in surprise. She did it again after taking in his scent – natural heady musk mixed with lavender and mahogany.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, his voice sounding alien and distant to his ears.

He had one arm around her, clasping her to him, while the fingers of his other hand softly traced her face, gently probing, examining her. Her skin was soft and smooth. His thumb brushed against her lower lip, and his breath hitched. Her body was pressed against his, and the feel of her breasts and her heat through his shirt were arousing. To him, she smelled like a fresh apple orchard in the fall – crisp. He was staring into her eyes, and she held his anxious, burning gaze for a moment. Her eyes are startled, and for the first time Thomas notices a darker ring of blue circling her irises – they were beautiful, but even more so this close. He watched her pupils dilate.

Eventually, her gaze was pulled to his mouth. Her lips were parted, ready, waiting. She was paralyzed with a strange, unfamiliar need, completely captivated by him. Her mouth felt welcoming beneath his thumb. He couldn’t, not yet at least. She wasn’t ready.

The little ‘v’ formed between her brows as he let go of her. He wanted to hold her for a moment longer, but stepped back. She released her hold on him, yet weirdly felt she was taking a piece of him with her. Keeping her at arm’s length, he slide his hands to her shoulders to ensure she could stand. Her expression was clouded with embarrassment and confusion.

“I’ve got this,” she says in a clipped tone. She was trying to be professional, distant even, but she didn’t move out of his hold. Adrenaline spiked through her body, from the near collision with the cyclist or because of Thomas, left her weak and weary. _How could I have misread the situation_ , Eleanor thought. She wanted to get away from him before she did anything else she would regret and/or jeopardize her research. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Saving me.”

“That idiot was riding the wrong way.” He took his hands off of her, his hands by his sides and Eleanor standing in front of him feeling like a fool.

She shook her head to clear it. She just wanted to go. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively and turned to face the road and note with relief that the green man had reappeared. She quickly made her way across, aware of Thomas hurrying to keep up behind her. Outside of the office, she turned briefly to face him but could not look him in the eye.

It seemed silly to her that sometime in the future this man would string her up, beat, and then fuck her blind yet she felt embarrassed by her actions.

“Eleanor….I….” Thomas stopped, and the distress in his voice demanded her attention, so she peered unwillingly up at him. His eyes were bleak as he ran his hand through his hair. He looked torn, frustrated, his expression stark, all his careful control has evaporated.

“What, Thomas?” She snapped irritated after he said nothing. She need to nurse her wounded pride, and could only do it away from him.

“Good luck with your exams.”

“Thanks.” She did her best to keep the sarcasm out of her voice and remain professional. Dispassionate. “Thank you for the tea. Goodbye, Mr. Reagan. Please, make an appointment next time so we can discuss the contract.”

She turned on her heel, vaguely amazed that she didn’t trip. Without giving him a second glance, she disappeared within the building.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**WEDNESDAY MORNING**

**COURTHOUSE**

            Thomas stood defiantly in the center of the escalator going up, talking on his cell phone to try and clam Wyatt down. He scoffs lightly.

“They signed the paperwork, Wyatt. They can't pull out….The patent dispute is not an issue, okay?...No, they cut the check. End of story.” He spotted Marcus waiting for him at the top, thumbing through a manila file. “I'm in court right now, let me call you back.”

“How was that mysterious brunch date?” Marcus asked conversationally as Thomas brushed past him.

“Wasn’t mysterious and wasn’t a date.” He pointed to the folder in Marcus’ hand. “Is that for me?”

Marcus handed Thomas a folder, already open to the page Thomas needs.

“So it's Velocity Data Solutions. Did you serve them with notice of the hearing?” Thomas tucked the file under his arm and pulled his phone out again. He typed and walked the familiar courthouse hallways as Marcus talked beside him.

“They’re a billion dollar company.”

Thomas didn’t bother looking up, only turned and walked backwards to push open the courtroom door with his back. “The bigger they are, yada yada yada.”

**COURTROOM**

            As Thomas walked in while texting on his phone, an authoritative voice called out, “Did you not see the sign outside?”

Thomas looked up. The voice belonged to their judge, Donald Pearl. He looked like an average-Joe; nothing remarkable about him stood out. Average height and build, brown hair greying at the temples, dull brown eyes. If he weren’t a judge, Thomas would have looked right over him.

Thomas nodded to Judge Pearl as he placed his cell in his suit jacket pocket and walked past the galley to their table. Salinger, the attorney for Velocity Data Solutions, stood beside his two clients.

“I'm just putting it away, your honor.”

“It should already be in your pocket. But you were already running late, so perhaps that's why it wasn't.” Judge Pearl turned to his court reporter. “Let the records show that the counsel is fined $1,000 for failing to follow the posted rules of the court.”

“Your honor, I didn't mean-”

“And for mouthing off.”

Thomas turned to mutter softly to an equally stunned Marcus, “Mouthing off?”

“Another outburst like _that_ ,” Judge Pearl motioned between Thomas and his associate, “and you will be escorted out. Mr. Salinger?”

“Your honor, this is a waste of your time. The U.S. patent office is the only judicial body that should be handling this dispute. Velocity Data Solutions requests dismissal.”

“Your honor,” Thomas stood. “If I may?” Pearl nodded. Thomas held up a piece of paper. “This injunction request-”

“Counsel approach.” Judge Pearl cut across Thomas. When the two polished lawyers stood before him, Judge Pearl pointed to the paper in Thomas’ hand. “That's the exhibit filing? Why wasn't I given a courtesy copy?”

“Given the expedited nature of this hearing, I assumed-”

“Hand it to me.” Judge Pearl motioned for the bailiff to take the paper from Thomas. Out of the corner of Thomas’ eye, he was Salinger doing a poor job of containing his amusement. As Judge Pearl scanned over the document, he added, “And _I_ would've assumed that a lawyer appearing before a judge would come on time, with his mouth shut, and prepared with a courtesy brief.”

Thomas mustered a polite smile, “My apologies, your honor.”

“Request denied.” Judge Pearl took up his gavel and banged it. Stunned, Thomas turned to Salinger, who was smiling brightly at his clients. “Court adjourned for morning.”

As the court noisily cleared out behind them, Judge Pearl leaned in and ominously whispered, “Better luck next time, _Thomas_.”

Before Thomas could reply, Judge Pearl stood up and left for his chambers. Salinger leaned over to Thomas with a smile. “From now on, I want him when I go against you.”

Thomas turned to Marcus, who was sitting at their table with a look of absolute disbelief on his face.

“ _What the hell?_ ” he mouthed to Thomas.

“Wait here,” Thomas pointed to the ground and walked past the bailiff to Judge Pearl’s chambers.

**JUDGE DONALD PEARL’S CHAMBERS**

          An assistant to the judge opened his door and timidly knocked. “Your honor, I have-”

“Send him in.” Pearl cut across her as he stripped off his judicial robes and hung them on the coat rack behind his desk. The assistant held open the door wider and Thomas walked in past her. Behind him, he heard the faint clock of the door shutting.

“Counselor?” Pearl replaced his robe with a sharp suit jacket and sat down at his desk. His voice was calm and even, but his tone was anything but. “You asked to see me. You must have something to say.”

“Excluding friends, associates, and the clients that I represent, there are very few people that I'm on a first name basis with. And I've never had _anyone_ , let alone a judge I've never met, address me as ‘Thomas’ in open court. But if you're gonna screw me, I guess it's only fair that you call me by name.”

Pearl stood back up and walked around his desk to face Thomas. “I could have you brought up on review for talking to me like that.”

“Then we can get it all on record.”

“Get what?”

“Whatever it is that you seem to have against me for no apparent reason. I have a solid argument for any reasonable judge to grant my injunction. So solid it begs the question, why do _you_ have it in for me? And I don't even know your first name.”

“Really? My wife never mentioned it?”

Thomas was thrown. Confusion colored his features. “Your wife?”

“The woman you had an affair with last month?”

**COURTHOUSE STEPS**

        As Thomas rushed down the courthouse stirs, Marcus was struggling to catch up behind him. “Wait, what happened in there?”

Thomas ignored him and put his cell phone to his ear. “Julia, the address for that fundraiser at the gallery last month, I need you to text it to me, and clear my afternoon.”

He stopped on the edge of the sidewalk and whistled for a cab. Within seconds, a yellow car pulled up next to them.

“Hey, where are we going?”

Thomas opened the rear door and held it open for Marcus. “ _You're_ going back to the office to file an interference claim with the patent office.”

“Wait, what's that?”

“It's how they determine who wins these situations. It's not always who filed first, so we have a chance.”

“So why didn't we do that in the first place?”

“Because it takes longer, and I wanted to head Velocity off at the pass.”

“Hey,” Marcus called as Thomas was backing away. “Where you going?”

“To iron out a wrinkle.”

Carson was two cars down, holding open the rear passenger door of the a3 Prestige for Thomas. Thomas was walking and texting as he approached. Of all the things Thomas thought would be the reason he pissed off a judge, being a gentlemen was never one.

**BACKSEAT**

            Thomas answered the call from his sister on the second ring. “Good news must travel fast.”

            “ _When it’s about you getting your ass kicked in court? You bet.”_ Thomas heard Erin chuckle softly on the other line. _“What’d you do this time, Tommy?”_

            “What do you mean?”

            _“In my experience, Judge Pearl is one of the good guys. Fair, impartial, always willing to listen to a good argument. The way I heard it, he cut you off at every turn.”_

            “What makes you think I did something?”

            Thomas could hear her barely controlled irritated sigh. “ _Tommy, what’s going on?”_

            “Erin, I’ve never met the man before this morning.”

            _“So why does he have it out for you? Did you talk to him about it?”_

            “Yes.”

            _“…And?”_

            “Apparently, this is his way of getting back at me for sleeping with his wife last month after a charity fundraiser at her art gallery.”

            There was silence on the other end. Thomas wasn’t sure she was breathing until she breathed his name. It was an urgent, pleading whisper, “ _Thomas...”_

            “Erin, before you-”

            _“Thomas,_ please _tell me you didn’t have an affair with a married woman. Let alone a woman married to a_ judge _.”_

            “It’s always nice to know you think so little of me, Erin.” Thomas spoke quietly and calmly, not bothering to hide his sarcastic contempt. Erin was about to protest, but Carson’s authoritative voice cuts off protest clearly on her side of the line.

            “Sir, we’re here.”

            _“Where are you?”_ If he didn’t know his sister, he would have thought she sounded desperate. Likewise, she knew him all too well to most likely answer her own question. _“Please tell me you aren’t where I think you are.”_

            “If you think I’m outside Lauren Pearl’s gallery, then you’d be correct.”

            “ _Thomas-”_

            “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you Sunday.” He ended the call before she could say anything else. Whether or not his sister believed he did or did not sleep with the judge’s wife was up to her; however, he couldn’t have anyone else thinking that. If word got around, he’d be blackballed by every judge he stood before from now until kingdom come. There was only one other person who knew the truth, and only one other person that could have lied to Judge Pearl.

            Mrs. Pearl.

**ART GALLERY**

            Mrs. Pearl’s gallery was minimalist, modern, and bland in Thomas’ eyes. She had the whole floor to herself; instead of leaving the original open floor plan, she added three additional walls to create four separate rectangle miniature galleries within the one. The walls came out far enough to leave a wide walkway for four people to walk shoulder to shoulder past one another comfortably. Each rectangular section had a different theme that was complimentary to the art displayed on the walls.

Lauren was speaking with two prospective clients in the last rectangle. The walls were ivory white; the natural light from the industrial skylight above illuminated the blue-grey-gold canvases hanging on the walls. Two black leather benches were centered in the room.

“If you're really interested, come back tomorrow around 1:00,” Lauren was telling her clients, her velvet London accent flowing over the words. Her back was to Thomas, but he could imagine the vibrant smile on her lovely face. “The afternoon light really makes this canvas come alive.”

“Pardon me,” Thomas announced, his voice bounding off the quiet gallery walls, causing Lauren and her customers to turn around. The customers were curiously impassive. Lauren, however, was becoming flustered.

A rosy blush crept into her olive skinned cheeks and her bright brown eyes widened in shock. She pushed her dark hair out of her face with the back of her hand, her wedding rings noticeably catching the light.

“I was wondering, would I get a discount for being the guy you cheated on your husband with?”

The clients shared a glance, their eyebrows raised, before turning to Lauren. She chuckled nervously and smiled politely as should could.

“Can you excuse me for a second?” Thomas was already walking away. He being much taller than her and having longer legs, she lightly trotted in her black heels to catch up. Knowing they were not quite out of ear-shot with her clients, she softly asked, “What are you doing here?”

Thomas made no such attempt to keep his voice down. “I had a hearing in front of the judge this morning, it didn't go very well.”

Thomas stopped walking when they reached a small red brick alcove Lauren had redesigned into her office. He gently took her arm and pulled her into the alcove, her back to the gallery. This time, he lowered his voice to a quiet conversational level.

“Why did you lie to him?”

“I'm sorry.”

“I mean, I recall you being _tipsy_ that night, but I'm finding it hard to believe that your memory is so cloudy, you forgot I sent you home in a cab.”

Lauren crossed her arms over her chest, staring up defiantly at him. “After humiliating me.”

“I was the perfect gentleman.”

“Yes, _exactly_ ,” she scoffed. “I fall all over myself making a pass, and you do the right thing and send me home.”

Thomas sighed. He placed his hands in his pocket and took a comforting step closer. “I'm sorry you felt humiliated, but I told you, I don't sleep with married women.”

“Right. The Catholic moral code.”

“No. I’ve done it once before, and that was enough. It's too big of a pain in the ass. As evidenced by my experience in court this morning.”

Lauren shook her head. She uncrossed her arms and placed them on her hips. “What do you want from me, Thomas?”

“I need you to tell him the truth.”

She shook her head. “I can't.

“Yes, you can.”

“Why didn't you just tell him?” She moaned uncomfortably, waving her hand at him before putting it back on her hip.

“He's never gonna believe me,” Thomas chuckled without humor.

“And what makes you think he'll believe me?”

Thomas was quiet for a moment, staring into Lauren’s eyes as she stared back at him. His voice was soft, his tone calming. “Because he'd want to, Lauren.”

She looked away, biting the bottom corner of her lip as she mulled over what to do next. “Our whole marriage, Donald's only cared about one thing: his sterling reputation. Never overturned. I was-- When he found out you and I had...” She looked back up at him with a sad smile on her cherry lips. “He changed. He looked at me for the first time again. Like I _mattered_.” She placed her hand lightly on Thomas’ chest. “I'm sorry. I can't tell him.”

She removed her hand and walked away from him. Thomas stepped out of the alcove to watch her leave. She returned to her clients trying to salvage their business. Thomas tilted his head back and sighed.

What the fuck was he going to do now?

**PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**ASSOSSICATE’S CUBICLES - MARCUS’S DESK**

            Marcus was at his cubicle, surrounded by paper work and blue folders. He was desperately flipping through one file with a pen in hand as he spoke into his landline pressed into the crook of his neck.

“No, this is a request from the applicant for….Yes, but I have up to a year before you—“

Outside Marcus’ cubicle, Louis Stern walked up. He placed his hand on the top edge of the small wall and looked down on the frazzled associate. “Hello.”

“No, I can't hold-” Marcus was too busy to notice Louis until the older man picked up a pencil from the desk and dropped it on the paperwork. Marcus looked up and saw Louis looking at him expectantly.

“You ready?”

“I can't go to the club, I have to do this for Mr. Reagan.” Marcus held his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone to quickly tell Louis before turning back to his work. “Yes, the person before you said that I had to file the blue form—“

“No, no, no, no.” Louis quickly cut through Marcus, waving his hand. “We have a court reserved in 30 minutes, we have to go now.”

“Yes, I'm trying to file the oral hearing. But what you people keep doing is trans-” Marcus tried ignoring Louis, but the line went dead. “Hello? Hello?”

He looked over to saw Louis leaning over the cubicle to hold down the hang up with his middle finger. Marcus held back the urge to roll his eyes as he left the phone drop into his lap. When he looked up at Louis, the older man had a thin smile on his face. His face may have looked kind, but his tone was anything but – quiet but with an undercurrent of wickedness that ran through it. The tone was reflected back in his beady black eyes.

“You work for me, too. And that means when Thomas is not here, you have listen to what I say, Marcus.”

“Mr. Stern,” Marcus leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk, clasping the phone receiver in between his hands as if he were praying. “This claim needs to be filed today. Reagan's orders.”

“In that case...Gregory!” Louis snapped his fingers. Over his shoulder, Gregory shot up from his desk and powerwalked over to Louis’ side. Before he reached them, Louis muttered to Marcus, “I'm on your side, remember that. Watch this.”

“Yes?” Gregory asked eagerly. Marcus could tell that Gregory was hoping Marcus was in trouble with Louis after witnessing the small fallout with Thomas before.

“Hi. Patent interference claim...” Louis reached over and collected the blue folder Marcus was working out of and handed it to Gregory. “Can you have it filed before we get back? Thanks.” Dismissively, Louis turned back to Marcus. “Let's go.”

**FRANKLIN RACQUET CLUB**

**COURT**

            Over the next fifteen minutes, Louis, dressed in all white save the black headband across his forehead, swatted balls flying out of a machine left and right. Marcus, dressed similarly – white tennis shoes, socks, shorts, and zip-up – stood off to the side of the court and watched Louis take out his aggression.

“Who's winning?” Marcus asked sarcastically.

“You need to warm up?” Louis asked, grunting unpleasantly as he lunged to swat a ball.

“No, I'm good.” Marcus waved the question off. He turned off the machine and rolled it away before taking its place on the court. “You serve first. Come on, show me what you got.”

Before Marcus could raise his racquet, Louis had served. The ball zipped dangerously close pass Marcus and landed inside the court. Marcus instinctively recoiled.

“15-love,” Louis called over the net.

“All right, you wanna play like that?” Marcus taunted. He crouched into a position he’d seen on another court and rolled his racquet between his hands. “Let's do this thing. Come on.”

Needless to say, Marcus got his ass kicked the next couple rounds. If the serves weren’t too far left or too far right, then they were directly head on. More than once Marcus got nailed by a tennis ball bouncing back off the ground and into his side, thigh, or arm. He did his best to block, but his attempts almost always resulted in Marcus making a fool of himself.

Louis, on the other hand, was a tennis powerhouse. His serve, from what Marcus could tell and what little he knew of tennis, was excellent and always hit its target. Louis never spoke throughout the game unless it was to call out the score.

Louis pulled a tennis ball out of the bucket and bounced it a few times between the racquet and the ground to test its bounce. Seeing a young, handsome blonde man walking towards them accompanied by an equally attractive blonde woman, Louis nodded to them.

“Hey, Tom.” Louis made quick work of the serve, announcing “Game,” as he turned his back to walk with the pair towards the court’s exit.

“Hey, Tom. We should definitely have lunch to talk about-- I mean, I have seen your approach shot, man. You have really improved. I'm not kidding.” Louis pointed his racquet at Marcus as they walked past. “You know, maybe you can play now, me and my associate were just starting up.”

The man, Tom, was too disinterested to even acknowledge Louis’ offer. He kept walking to the green fenced exit. Louis, however, kept talking.

“How about you two against me, I'll just play-- Tom, seriously, I'll even-- I'll spot you three sets.” And they were gone, Tom and his companion walked through the gate and up the stone path to the club house. Louis called after them, chuckling, “All right, I'll see you later then.”

“Isn't that, uh...?” Marcus wandered up to the white net, vaguely gesturing to the green gate.

“It's Tom Keller.”

“Yeah, the premiere fantasy sports guy, right? That's him.” Marcus continued to watch the pair walk up the path. Tom must have said something funny, because the woman touched his arm and laughed. “Yeah, I play it ever year.”

“Yeah, you and five million other fantasy footballers. I mean, the guy generates 200 million per annum, right? And he _still_ uses his fraternity brother as a general counsel.” Louis shook his head. “I mean, someone with that many assets just makes me sick.”

“Okay.” Marcus rolled his shoulders and swung his arms to loosen them up. “So is it my serve-”

“Let's hit the showers.” Louis walked away from the net. He collected his racquet case and headed out the gate.


	16. Chapter 16

**COURTHOUSE**

**JUDGE DONALD PEARL’S CHAMBERS**

**WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON**

“Sorry, sir, but-” The judge’s assistant tried to block the doorway to the judge’s chambers, but Thomas walked through anyway.

“No introductions necessary, we're on a first name basis.” As he walked up to stand in front of Judge Pearl’s desk, the door behind him closed with an audible click. “I brought you a present. Yours to keep, _after_ you sign my injunction.”

Thomas took a pen out of his suit jacket pocket and placed it on the book the judge was reading. Judge Pearl help it up, suspicion and confusion coloring his voice and features. “A pen.”

“It's custom. French. Le bic.”

Judge Pearl leaned back against his chair, holding the pen by each end and rolling it. “Oh, my earlier ruling wasn't clear enough for you?”

“Crystal, but I didn't want you to suffer for it. You see, if you don't sign my injunction, there's going be a lawsuit. And when the next judge sees all the facts, he or she is going overturn your ruling.”

“You may be right,” the judge conceded, nodding. “But by then your clients will have dumped you.”

“ _You_ may be right,” Thomas mimicked him. He slowly sat down, unbuttoning his suit jacket and crossing his legs. “But that sterling reputation that you value so highly... Down the tubes.”

“Which would matter, except for one thing - I've decided to leave the bench.” He gestured to Thomas with the pen, a cruel smile on his lips. “Try my hand at litigation.”

“And I'm your last case.”

“Divorce will do that. Make you wanna change your life.”

Thomas raised his eyebrow in disbelief. “You filed for divorce?

“Soon enough.” Judge Pearl shrugged. He stood up from his chair and walked around his desk. Just like Thomas had done, he sat painfully slow on the corner of his desk. “Perhaps we could discuss a little _quid pro quo_ before I do.”

Seeing no other options at the moment, Thomas looked away from the judge to the window. “I'm listening.”

“ _You_ sign a document that says you slept with my wife,” Judge Pearl pointed to Thomas with the pen before turning it back on himself, “and _I'll_ give you your injunction.”

“And why would you want me to do that?” Thomas asked through a clenched jaw. He didn’t like to be backed into corners.

“To prevent her from taking me for half of everything I own,” he said as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

“So what you're saying is you'd like to blackmail me.”

“ _I'm saying_ ,” Judge Pearl stressed, “we could both benefit. And since you're the one who screwed me, I'd say you owe me one.”

Smugly, Judge Pearl held out the pen Thomas.

**THOMAS’S CAR**

Thomas sat contemplatively in back seat while Carson drove through the city back to the office. His eyes were closed and his head leaned back to rest on the headrest. This day seemed to be never ending – his disastrous coffee-date with Eleanor was soon piggy-backed into a train wreck of courtroom drama and marital affair. If he was more mentally exhausted as he was, he would have sworn he’d seen Eleanor weeks ago and not hours.

Flashes of her hurt and embarrassed face flittered across his mind. When he should be worrying about Judge Pearl and Wyatt, he was instead worrying about Eleanor. How she was, how the rest of her morning was….if what little progress they made over coffee was pulled back into impersonal professionalism. He worried if Bedelia would find out; if she was unhappy, then she would in turn make Thomas unhappy next time he’s looking for a sub.

What he needed was a momentary distraction. Something more than a quick car ride to isolate him from his problems. What he needed was a quick fix, and Eleanor, his supposed new submissive, was yet up to that task yet. He needed to regain control in some aspect of his miserable day and he doubted Bedelia could, or even would, find him a one-off.

He was pulled out of his troubled mind by his cell phone ringing and vibrating in his pocket. It took his a moment to fish it out and answered on the third ring.

“Thomas Reagan.”

“ _What are you hiding from me, Thomas?”_ Thomas closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Wyatt,” Thomas said more calmly than he felt. “Do you remember six months ago when you got all nervous and you thought everything was falling apart?”

“ _Yeah, yeah. But this is a little different!”_

“That's what you said _then_. And a _year_ ago, and 18 _months_ ago. And we agreed that when this happens again, I'll remind you of those times and I'll hang up.”

“ _Okay, Thomas—“_

“Trust me,” Thomas cut over Wyatt, his placating done. “It's for your own good.”

_“Thomas, please don't hang up—“_

Before Wyatt could finish desperately yelling, Thomas hung up.

**FRANKLIN RACQUET CLUB**

**LOCKER ROOM**

“Hey, Tom.” Louis said, putting his racquet away in a locker, as Tom Keller walked psat heading to the showers wearing a white towel. “You just missed a great game. We were, uh... We were just re-- I was beating him.”

Louis kept stammer after Tom, but the man kept walking disinterestedly past. Louis shook his head and turned back to his locket undressing. “You know, ten years ago, before these dot-com millionaires, there were men of substance in this club. You know, men who understood how business gets done.”

“Well,” Marcus took a moment to decide playing Devil’s Advocate was the best approach with Louis while they were both stripping beside one another. “Maybe he's just not interested in talking business while he's in a towel.”

“He's not interested because he doesn't think I'm cool. And he's a pothead who thinks that anybody who doesn't smoke is a nerd. I mean...” Louis turned to Marcus shirtless, throwing the sweaty white polo in his locker. Marcus tried his hardest not to stare, but there was just so….much to look at – pudge belly, course black hair covering his undeveloped chest, and bright red, erect nipples the size of nickels. Louis gestured to himself. “So I treat my body like a temple? Does that make me uncool? I don't think so.”

“No,” Marcus was quick to say, desperate keeping eye contact.

Louis smiled as if a thought just occurred to him. “But on the other hand... You kinda seem his type.”

“Why do you say that?” Marcus scoffed. He tossed his socks and gym shoes into his duffle bag.

“Because you're young. And you think of yourself as...Hip. Whatever, you say. You know, I'm sure you enjoyed the occasional bong hit.”

Marcus’ head snapped up. Luckily, Louis’ back was turned and didn’t notice the knee-jerk reaction. Marcus quietly cleared his throat and shook his head. “No. No, I don't smoke.”

 _Shit,_ Marcus kept stammering in his head. _He knows. He knows. He’ll tell Thomas. He’ll tell Haley. Shit. I’m dead. Shit. Is that why I’m here?_

Louis chuckled. “I mean, that's just a little strange.”

“Why is it strange?” He tried to sound as nonchalantly as possible, but he could feel nervous sweat beginning to slick his palms.

Louis turned to Marcus, pinning him with a cold stare, and leaned back against his locker. “I mean, because the drug test that you took – well, that I made you take – would indicate otherwise.” Out of his pocket, he pulled up a folded piece of paper and handed it to Marcus. “You're not gonna dispute it now, are you?”

Marcus sighed heavily, and hung his head in his hand. The other gripped the lab results. _Shit. If Louis knows, the Thomas…..we had a deal._

“Relax, Marc.” Louis chuckled. “Relax. I'm not offended. I'm not even surprised. And in fact, in this instance, we can use this to our advantage.”

Marcus looked up coldly to the ugly man standing smugly in front of him. “What are you talking about, Louis?”

“I'm just saying, you know, back in the day, to woo a client you would take him to dinner, you would buy him a drink. But that's not gonna work with Tom. Not in a _million_ years. Not with me, anyway.” Louis cocked his head to the side and smiled. “But with someone of his generation who shares the same proclivities?”

“You saying you want me to smoke pot with him?” Said through gritted teeth, his foot tapping in frustration

Louis didn’t answer. “I'm saying you can help me land him as a client.”

He chuckled darkly and threw the lab results in his gym bag. “That's the only reason I'm here, isn't it?”

“No, Marc. Stop. Just stop, okay? I assure you, no one was more disappointed than me when I found out the results of your drug test, okay?”

 _Bullshit,_ Marcus thought, _Thomas finds out you’ve got nothing on him._

“Then I had to say to myself, ‘Louis, do what you do, make lemonade.’"

Marcus took a moment before answering, considering his options. Either way he played this, Thomas would be pissed – don’t do it and Louis shows Thomas the failed drug test; do it and Marcus breaks their deal and Thomas still finds out about the failed drug test.

“And if I don't?

“You're a smart kid.” Louis winked. Coming from a short, unsightly half-naked man in a locker room, Marcus was comforted by it. “And I really wanna see you succeed. Ball's in your court.”

Without another word, Louis dropped his trousers, boxer-breifs and all. Marcus’ head instantly snapped up to the ceiling. There was no power on Earth that would make him look anywhere near Louis. As Louis nakedly walked away, Tom Keller was walking back from the showers.

“Hey, Tom,” Louis nodded, trying to get the man’s attention. “I was just gonna tell you, I wanted to... Okay.”

Again, Tom walked past Louis without a word or glance in the other man’s direction. Louis turned quickly, his _dangly bits_ swinging as he did so, to make eye-contact with Marcus and point at Tom’s back.

Marcus sighed and shook his head, sticking it in his locker to try and bury in head from the sight of naked Louis.

“Dude creeps me out, man.” Someone behind him spoke. Marcus turned and saw Tom unlocking his locker. “And he never wears a towel. Ever.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Marcus chuckled darkly. Marcus closed his eyes and banged his forehead against the back of his hand as it held open the locker. _Now or never_. He turned to Tom. “Hey, I know you must hear this all the time, but totally addicted to your website, man.”

“All right,” Tom nodded. He spared Marcus a glance as he dressed, assessing him, before challenging, “Who placed sixth in passing yards last year?”

Marcus chuckled. “Carson Palmer. 3,970.” Marcus shot back with his own question. “How many sacks did James Hall have?”

“11?” Tom played stupid.

“Uh-uh.” Marcus shook his head with a smile. “Ten and a half.”

“Yeah, I know, I rounded up.”

Marcus barked out a laugh. “Well, your league doesn't or I would've come in better than 20th.”

Tom paused, hands frozen on the button he was doing on his shirt. He turned to Marcus, puzzled. “Your Frasier’s Raiders, right?”

“Yeah,” Marcus smiled and walked over to hold out his hand. “Marcus Frasier.”

“Tom Keller,” he answered with his own smile and a firm handshake.

“Good to meet you.”

“Congratulations, man, you got a nice little team there.” Marcus shook his head slightly, but Tom waved him off. “No, if Roethlisberger hadn't let you down, you'd have been top ten for sure, I'm telling you.”

“Yeah, well, that's what happens when you get high before the draft, right?” Marcus dangled the casual comment before turning and walking back to his own locker. It didn’t take long for Tom to catch the bait.

“You get high?”

**PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**LOBBY ELEVATOR BAY**

Marcus stood in front of the panel for floors 38-51, pressing the call button. The circle glows blue and the elevator beeps. Marcus chuckled and did it again when the blue light went out. The light reappeared and the elevator beeped. He kept hitting the button to hear the elevator chimes ring one right after the other.

“Are you getting on, sir?” An annoyed woman’s voice called out to him. Marcus looked around to find it, and saw it was coming from the full elevator cart waiting on him.

“Oh.” He lazily walked in, smiling at the woman who yelled at him. “Sorry.”

Just as the doors were about to close, a slim black clutch book slid between the cracks. The elevator doors reopened and Marcus nervously stepped aside to make room for Haley Peters.

The silver doors closed, trapping Marcus high-as-a-kite with his boss….his boss’s partner? His mind was cloudy and couldn’t remember, but he kept telling himself to act normal. Be cool. Don’t talk. Don’t breathe on her or towards her or better yet don’t breathe.

“How's it going with Thomas?” Haley asked the completely silent elevator cart. When no one answered, he looked around to see who she was talking to and saw her staring patiently at him.

“Me?” He pointed to himself. Haley raised her eyebrow, amused. “Uh...It's...You know, it's good. I'm learning.” The elevator beeped, stopping Marcus’ babbling. “A lot of learning.”

Haley quickly stepped off, not sparing a glance at Marcus. Lamely, he called after her, “Bye.”

As the elevator doors were closing, he quickly pulled the lapels of his suit jacket to his nose and inhaled as deeply as he could. _Could she smell it?_ Haley was intimidating when Marcus was sober, but now his paranoia was cranked up ten notches and giving him heart burn.

**ASSOCIATE’S CUBICLES**

**MARCUS’S DESK**

            Marcus didn’t know how long he’s been sitting at his desk. Every time he sets his mind to getting work done, something on his desk distracts him. He was holding the waxy green leaf of the plant on his desk, enjoying the feeling of rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger, when a grating voice pulled him out of his stupor.

“What's black and white and gonna cost you dearly?”

Marcus swiveled around and saw Gregory Boone standing behind him, an annoyed expression painted across his face, holding the interference claim in his hand.

“Whoa,” Marcus breathed.

“Took me all morning and my lunch break to file this, golden boy. You owe me and I won't forget it.”

“Oh, God! Thank you.” Marcus took the paper and stumbled into a full frontal hug with Gregory. He pulled him tighter when Gregory tried to pull away. He muttered into Gregory shoulder, “You smell papery.”

**THOMAS REAGAN’S OFFICE**

Marcus walked in triumphantly into Thomas’ office with the paper in hand. Thomas was leaning back in his desk chair, feet propped up on the corner of his desk, talking on the landline to none other than Wyatt. Marcus walked around to Thomas’ side, picked up his feet and placed them on the ground, and slammed the paper on Thomas’ desk.

“Boom. There you go, look at that.”

“Wyatt, let me call you back, okay?” Thomas kept his eyes on Marcus as the young associate took a signature baseball from Thomas’ desk. “Five minutes. Bye.”

Thomas hung up the phone. Something was right with Marcus but Thomas couldn’t put his finger on it. The boy seemed elated, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Tell him to do something simple, he’ll come back expecting a parade. But it was more than that – his skin was pinker, his eyes wider, he ditched his tie and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his collar, his suit jacket open.

“What's this?” Thomas picked up the paper Marcus had rudely slammed onto his desk.

“What is this?” Marcus chuckled. “That's confirmation of the interference claim which I proofed. Up top.” He held up his hand over the paper expecting a high-five.

“Do you think you're working in a fraternity? You don't barge in here when I'm on the phone.” Thomas scolded him, but Marcus dropped his hand and shrugged it off. “And why you so flushed?”

“Why am I so what?” Marcus laughed off the question, backing away from Thomas. He leaned against the window and tossed the ball back and forth to himself.

“Your face is red.” Thomas put down the paper and kept his eyes on Marcus, taking the boy in. “It looks like you've been in the sun.”

“Um...Yeah, I-- I-- This morning, Louis took me to the tennis club.”

“He didn't give you the speech about the, um, the ponies, did he? How he likes to cut one from the herd.”

Marcus chuckled. “The ponies.”

“Was he wearing the headband?” Thomas smiled, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smile.

“You know about the headband? With the...” Marcus laughed, nodding. “Oh, my God, are you kidding me with that guy?”

“Hey, if you guys were playing tennis all morning, how'd you have time to file this?” The friendly smile and charm was gone the instant Thomas held up the interference claim, all humor wiped away from his face.

 _Dammit,_ Marcus thought, fidgeting against the window. _He set me up and I took the bait. Fuck. He’s gonna find out –_

“Uh... He-- It was this morning-- Actually, I was on the phone with them, and Louis helped me—“

Marcus tried stammering out an explanation, but it was no use. Thomas was already getting up from his chair, buttoning his suit jacket, and walked menacingly towards Marcus.

“Look at me.”

Power radiated off of him, and he seemed to stand taller looming over the younger associate. Marcus tried looking anywhere but Thomas, but Thomas grabbed the boy by his chin and tilted his head up.

“Look at me,” he said softly, his voice hypnotic. It only took a moment for Thomas to realize what was going on. Hurt passed across Thomas’ face too quickly for Marcus to register before it was carefully concealed behind a mask of coldness. Thomas roughly let go of Marcus’ face. “You're high. Get out.”

Thomas turned his back on Marcus and sat down at his desk.

Marcus sighed, desperation filling his voice. He walked to Thomas’ desk, trying to catch his eye as he pleaded, “Thomas, you don't understand. Louis—“

“Out,” Thomas said again, this time Marcus pulled back. He’d never heard Thomas speak like that, so cold and detached. Like he didn’t care; like someone talking about taking out the trash.

Thomas didn’t look up from his computer screen as Marcus hesitantly placed the baseball back on the desk and walked out of the office defeated.

“Julia?” Thomas called through the open door. “Can you get Wyatt back on the line?”

With the landline to his ear, he watched Marcus walk down the hall. Suddenly, Thomas drew back his hand and slammed it down on his desk with enough force that Julia and a few others in the hall outside jumped at what sounded like gunshot.

Julia turned to Thomas. She knew him better than most. She could tell what he needed and when he needed it and that’s how their relationship has lasted so long. Right now, she could see he was hurting. He had put his trust in Marcus and somehow that trust was broken. Julia’s heart broke seeing Thomas like this; his world slowly spinning out of control in the course of a day. She wanted to make this right for him, but she didn’t know how.

**LADIES RESTROOM**

Marcus leaned over the sink and cupped the cool water in his hands before washing his face. He does it several more times until he feels a little less dirty about betraying Thomas. Behind him, he heard the faint clicking of heels. When he looked up, Delphine Laurent was standing mystified by the tiled wall.

“What are you doing in here?” Marcus snapped.

Delphine cocked her head to the side and raised her eyebrow. “It is ‘ze ladies room.”

Marcus sighed and hung his head, gripping the edge of the sink as if it were the only thing keeping him afloat. “I'm sorry. Look, can you do me a favor?” He shut of the water and began drying his hands with a towel. “Can we-- Can we just keep this our little secret?”

Delphine walked closer to Marcus, her annoyance turning into curiosity. “Why are your eyes so red?”

Beside them, a toilet flushed. Marcus couldn’t do this. Not here, not now, not with Delphine. He needed to get out. He needed to feel like he wasn’t suffocating.

“I-I need some air,” He breathed, quickly brushing past her to the exit.

**LOUIS STERN’S OFFICE**

Thomas barged into Louis’ office, slamming the glass door behind him so that it rattled in its frame. Louis looked up, stunned, from the orange he was peeling at his desk.

“You took Marcus Frasier on a field trip today?”

“Yep.” Louis went back to peeling his orange, not bothering to look up at Thomas.

“Aside from subjecting him to you not in a towel, what happened?”

“Well, I beat him in straight sets, if that's what you're get—“

Before Thomas could think, he strode over to Louis and slapped the orange out of his hand. It flew across the room, landing messily on the grey fabric couch. Louis recoiled his stinging hand, and pulled back into his chair in shock as Thomas placed his balled fists on the desk to support him to menacingly lean over.

His voice was low, threatening, and barely above a whisper. “Do not play dumb, Louis. Tell me what you did to him.”

“What the hell, Reagan. Anger management not working out for you?” Louis’ eyes were wide. “Come on, the kid is starving for a mentor, someone to give him some advice. Maybe if you just took the time—“

“I'm telling you right now, you try to move in on him—“

“Where is this coming from?” Louis practically yelled, confused by Thomas’ unheard of reaction.

Before Thomas could say or do anything else that would jeopardize him further, Julia opened Louis’ door and stepped into the room.

“Thomas,” she called to him softly. She knew it was best not to touch him when he gets like this so she made no move to go to him. He was dangerous enough when he wasn’t angry. “Thomas, I've got the outside counsel for Velocity on the line.”

“Put them through,” Thomas told her, but kept Louis stare. When he was satisfied he’d made his point, Thomas pushed off of the desk and walked past Julia through the door. The small crowd that had converged outside quickly dispersed before Thomas’ anger was directed towards them.

            “ _What the fuck_?” Louis mouthed to Julia, rubbing his hand.

**OUTSIDE PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

Delphine had bought Marcus a water bottle and some aspirin from the kiosk in the lobby. They were walking around the stone courtyard aimlessly as he told her about his afternoon with Louis.

“What ‘appened after you smoked?” She unscrewed the bottle’s lid and handed it to him with two aspirin. “’Ere.”

“I-I just got paranoid. I felt bad for lying to him,” he tossed the pills in his mouth and shot-gunned the water bottle. “I told him that Louis put me up to it and that he couldn't trust him.”

“So what did ‘ee say?”

“He said that Louis gave him the creeps anyway. You know, he was never gonna hire him.”

“Okay,” Delphine stopped them walking by a set of stairs. “You ‘ave to tell Monsieur Reagan.”

Marcus chugged more water and shook his head. “I tried, he wasn't listening….he doesn’t _want_ to listen.”

“So go ‘ome and tell ‘im tomorrow.”

“Oh, God,” Marcus sighed painfully, covering his face with his hand. “You should've seen his face. We had a deal. And I broke it; I broke his trust….”

“What deal?”

Marcus dropped his hand and shook his head. He couldn’t tell her no matter how much he wanted to. He couldn’t do that to Thomas after everything else. “Thanks for hearing me out.”

He turned to leave, but Delphine reached out and took his arm. He reluctantly turned back to her. “No, what are you talking about? What deal?”

“It's nothing. I just…I just promised that I wouldn't – that I wouldn’t do anything stupid and let him down, and I did.” Marcus started tapping his foot and looking everywhere but her so she wouldn’t have to see how awful he felt. “God, I messed up.”

“Wait, you let ‘im down?” Delphine scoffed and shook her head, not believing what she was hearing. “No. ‘Ze way I see it, ‘ee let _you_ down.”

Marcus chuckled. He was amused by how offended she looked by that. I was nice to see someone sticking up for him after a day like today. “What?

“’Ee's got to know what Louis is capable of, so if ‘ee did not listen to what ‘appened it is because ‘ee did not want to. Marcus, you need to tell ‘im.”

“I don't know how often you come across Mr. Reagan, but he's not exactly the listening type.”

“’Ee is if you make ‘im listen.” There was something strange in her expression that caught Marcus’ attention, but she turned away to face the street before he could tell what it was. When she turned back to him, she was normal again. “But ‘ee is also ‘ze first person ‘zat would tell you never to take no for an answer from anyone.”

**THOMAS REAGAN’S OFFICE**

Thomas paced back and forth behind his desk while he was on speaker in a conference call with George Salinger and other lawyers.

“ _Tom,_ ” George greeted cheerfully. “ _How you doing this fine afternoon?”_

“I'm ready to hear your settlement offer, George.”

George’s chuckle sounded more like static. _“Cutting to the chase, I like that.”_

“What's the number?”

“ _Ten million_ ,” George responded without hesitation.

Thomas felt like he’d been punched in the gut. His brows furrowed in frustration as he scratched his eyebrow. “That's _half_ what we spent developing the prototype.”

_“And ten million more than you'll get, the way the wind's blowing.”_

“Yeah, well, winds can change. And you and I both know the injunction will get overturned on appeal.”

“ _I don't know anything of the kind.”_

Thomas saw right through him. “Then why are you calling with an offer at all?”

That gave George pause. The line was silent as faint voices quickly discussed further. _“Fifteen, that's as high as I'll go.”_

“I'm hanging up now. Goodbye, George.”

 _“Twenty million,”_ George practically shouted through the speaker. Thomas shook his head. _“That's it. The offer's good for 24 hours. And I'm sure I don't have to remind you that you're legally required to present this to your client.”_

With a click, George disconnected the call.


	17. On Loan

**WEDNESDAY NIGHT**

**HANG TEN**

            In a few short weeks, Hang Ten, the latest club to spring up in Manhattan, had become the place on a Friday night. That was no less true in the middle of the week. It also didn’t matter the bouncer was an subjective ass, the drinks were expressive, and the dance floor was too small; people still waited for hours in line, determined to get in.

            Thomas Reagan did not like waiting.

            He’d dressed down for the occasion, leaving his tie and suit jacket in the car with Carson and suggestively unbuttoned the top couple buttons. As he made his way up the line he nodded to the bouncer. There were grumblings of protest as the bouncer’s eyes skirted over Thomas and stepped aside.

            The stairs down to the lower level were lit with strips of red neon, mounted low on the walls. Descending patrons could see their feet clearly while their features were already wrapped in a play of light and shadow that made everyone, if not more beautiful, more mysterious.

            Thomas carried mystery with him.

            A cluster of young women in brightly colored, barely there dresses – high on the thighs, low over the breasts – shuffled aside on spiked heels when he passed, staring after him. Making his way slowly around the room, Thomas ignored the bar crowd, his eyes locking on the moving bodies that filled the dance floor.

            “You hear alone?”

            Thomas had known he was there before he’d spoken. Felt his eyes on him. Felt him move up behind, close enough Thomas could feel the man’s clothing brush against his shoulder blades. He’d tipped his head up to ask the question, warm breath lapping against Thomas’ ear, his voice low, as intimate as possible given the ambient noise. He was not quite as tall as Thomas, but had pulled off the maneuver despite Thomas’ height, and he smelled like sweat and fabric softener.

            Stepping back just a little, just enough for his ass to accidently brush against the other man, Thomas turned and smiled. “I am.”

            He was younger than Thomas’ expected. He was in his early twenties, possibly no older than twenty four. His eyes were medium blue flecked with gold. His hair was dark blond, short enough to be military. If Thomas had to guess, this guy was a cadet in a university’s JROTC program. He wore a dark blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms, black jeans, and black boots. Fully aware Thomas was checking him out, the young man’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His smile was provocative, licking his top lip with the tip of his tongue.

            “Do you want to dance?” He nodded toward the dance floor as if reassuring Thomas the he actually meant dance – although given the vertical foreplay happening out there, Thomas wasn’t sure why drawing his attention to it would be reassuring.

            “Lead the way.”

            There were protocols for this type of arraignment. As easy as it would be to lead this young man into a private room in the back of the club and take whatever he wanted, part of the fun was allowing the boy to believe he was leading Thomas.

            That was everyone was happy. And besides, Thomas wasn’t in the mood for fast food tonight.

            The press of bodies kept them close. The boy kept his eyes on Thomas as they danced. He was good, Thomas had to give him that. Thomas had no idea what song was playing; as the boy’s heart began to beat in sync with the throbbing bass from the surrounding speakers, Thomas danced to the pulsing. The thin fabric of his shirt began to stick to damp skin, outlining muscle, accentuating movement. As Thomas breathed in his desire, a little more of his own desire come up.

            Outside, in the real world, people would have instinctively moved away. Down here, in the fantasy, they moved closer, flirting with the fear, believing the same anonymity that allowed Thomas to hide.

            It didn’t take long for the boy to be reeled in under Thomas’ control. Thomas slid his leg between the boy’s, rubbing against the hard muscle of his thigh, showing the boy what he wanted. Thomas closed his hands to the boy’s hips, fingers hot and strong, directing his movement.

            At the end of the song, the music stopped. Before a protest could rise from the dance floor, the DJ leaned in this microphone and said, “And now the voice you’ve all been waiting for!”

            A single spotlight illuminated a tiny blonde woman standing alone on the small stage at the narrow end of the club. Thomas had no interest in high-end karaoke, so he tucked himself up close to the young man’s body, leaned his neck down to lick the salt off the tanned column of his throat. Thomas opened his mouth to suggest they take their dance elsewhere.

            Thomas took the boy’s hand and worked the crowd before slipping through the door marked STAFF ONLY. They moved down the corridor behind the stage to where light spilled into the far end of the hall through an open door. Their footsteps were the only sound against the worn, tile floor.

            The room was functional rather than opulent – cinder block walls, a silver rolling rack, and a wooden table with a single chair. As soon as they were inside and the door shut and locked behind them, Thomas pushed the young man against the wall and slipped his hands into the boy’s pants.

            Thomas turned the boy’s head, exposing his neck. For a brief second, the boy felt the brief sting of Thomas’ teeth nipping his skin, but the sensation was quickly washed away by a sensual buzz. Thomas sucked hard enough to leave a bruise. He nipped and sucked, his hand rubbing the boy’s crotch, until he was moaning and becoming undone.

            Thomas pulled back, taking his hand out of the boy’s pants. The boy groaned in longing, bucking his hips toward Thomas. Thomas chuckled and shook his head. With one hand pressing down on the boy’s shoulder, he growled, “Knees.”

            The boy dropped to his knees with little force from Thomas. He made quick work of Thomas’ trousers and pulled out his cock. The boy first licked the shaft from root to tip before circling his lips around the head. The slurping sounds seemed unnaturally loud in the silent room. Thomas closed his eyes and his head fell back.

            He grumbled when the boy let go of his cock, but a second later he swallowed Thomas down even deeper. With the skill of this boy’s tongue, Thomas’ self-control was waning. He grabbed the boy’s head and held it firm. He shoved his cock all the way down the boy’s throat and kept pumping.

            Thomas came, struggling to keep the moans of pleasure inside. The boy pulled off Thomas’ cock, passing his tongue over the tip one last time. He stood, licking his lips.

            Thomas chuckled, pinning the boy with a dark stare. “Oh, we’re not finished.” He stalked slowly the few steps between them, pushing the boy further into the wall. Thomas’ lifted his hands to grip the wall and frame the boy’s head on either side of him. He leaned closer till his breath warmed the side of the boy’s neck, making him shiver in response. “Not by a long shot.”

**TWO HOURS LATER**

            Thomas left the club feeling better than when he went in. He walked past the line to get into the club smelling of sweat, sex, and fabric softener. Carson handed Thomas his back when he got settled in the back seat of the sedan.

            “Enjoy your evening, sir?”

“Not as much as I’d like, but productive all the same,” Thomas sighed, pulling up his text messages. “Home, Carson.”

            “Yes, sir.”       

            He sent out a single message, “ _Thanks for the loan,”_ to the few constant women in his life – Doctor Bedelia Moore.

            _“Anytime, love.”_

                       


	18. Chapter 18

**TURSDAY MID-MORNING**

**JULIA’S DESK**

“Is he free?” Marcus Frasier called out to Julia Vicario while walking towards her desk, looking off into Thomas Reagan’s glass office. Marcus could see Thomas was alone, standing by his shelves of records and looking intently down at one in his hand, but couldn’t gauge his mood from in the lobby.

“Not for you.” Julia ignored Marcus’s presence at her station. She continued to shuffle and organize paperwork without a spared glance to the frustrated boy.

Marcus sighed, shaking his head slightly and leaning forward on the desk. “How much did he tell you?”

“He didn't _have_ to tell me,” she flicked an annoyed glance to Marcus through her thick eyelashes. “I read it on his face. You _hurt_ him, Marcus. And that makes me want to hurt _you_.”

“Yeah,” Marcus said, moving his head in an attempt to catch Julia’s eyes. “And he did the same to me.”

She stared him down a moment before subtlety nodding her head towards the glass door. “Be careful.”

**THOMAS REAGAN’S OFFICE**

“Thomas,” Marcus announced as he walked through the door.

“We talked about this, right?” Thomas flipped the record case over in his hand to read the back. “Barging into my office.”

“I'm not leaving until you hear me out.” Marcus shut the door firmly behind him and walked over to Thomas, but Thomas was already heading back across the room to his record player.

“Wanna bet?”

“You _owe_ it to me.”

“Oh, _I_ owe it to _you_?” Thomas darkly chuckled.

“Yeah. Look,” Marcus stopped abruptly at the record shelves where Thomas had been standing and threw up his hands in defeat, “this is not my fault, all right? Louis made me do it.”

“Louis did, riiight.” Thomas sounded unconvinced. He carefully pulled the record out of the jacket and placed it one the machine. “He put a gun to your head and _made_ you smoke pot.”

“Yeah, he did! He pulled out the drug test-- Which I failed, by the way.” Thomas’s head jerked up in surprise, but Marcus didn’t catch it. He was consumed by his rant to notice. “And then he told me that if I didn't smoke pot to help him land this new client, that he'd fire me.”

Marcus waited in nervous silence as Thomas put the needle on the record. Soft sounds of smooth jazz fluttered up from the machines and small speakers surrounding the room, enveloping it in a warm atmosphere. A complete contradiction from the tension developing to two men.

Marcus sighed loudly, running his hand over his face in frustration. “Come on. I-It's not so different than asking someone out for drinks, is it?”

“It’s different, Mr. Frasier.” Thomas kept his back to the young man. “You and I had a deal.”

“I'm sorry.”

Those two words were like a cattle prod in the ass. Thomas spun around and strode heatedly to the black couch that divided them. He kept his hands in his pockets out of fear he’d tear the leather on the sofa from gripping it too hard.

“And if _next time_ Louis asks you to do something that I told you _not_ to do, what then?” There was fire and anger behind every word, but his face gave nothing away. He appeared to be made of indifferent stone; like Marcus had already become nothing and the anger stemmed from his wounded pride over a failing associate tarnishing his name.

Marcus was nothing.

“I told you. I did not have a choice.”

“Oh, because he had a gun to your head.” Sarcasm seeped like venom off of his words.

“ _Yes_!”

Thomas was quiet for a moment. “What are your choices if someone puts a gun to your head?”

“W-What are you talking about?” Where Thomas’s voice was calm and his word slow and deliberate, Marcus’s were frantic and rushed. “You do what they say or they shoot you!”

“ _Wrong_.” Thomas slapped his hand on the top of the couch, making a cracking noise like gunfire. Marcus, even Julia and an assistant or two outside the lobby who had heard, jumped in surprise. Venom and anger returned to Thomas’s voce as she slowly walked around the couch to stand a few feet away from Marcus. “You take the gun, or you pull out a bigger one, or you call their bluff. Or you do any one of 146 other things! If you can't think for yourself, maybe you aren't cut out for this.”

It was Marcus who closed the distance. “No. I can and I _am_. Look, I did what I had to do. I made the best out of a bad situation. Which is what I am _good_ at. Which is what you _hired_ me to do in the first place!”

“Yeah, I hired you,” Thomas nodded slowly. “And I expect _your_ _loyalty_. So if Louis asks you to do something like that, you come to me first.”

“Oh, right.” Marcus scoffed. “Like when I came to you and you told me that I couldn't sit at the adult table, right. I remember that. O-or when you told me to go file the patent by myself, like that?”

“Excuse me?” Thomas was caught off guard by the young man’s blatant disrespect.

“You know what? Maybe it's time _you_ showed _me_ some loyalty.”

Once again, Thomas’s face smoothed and his controlled calm washed over him. He flexed his balled fist and placed it back in his pocket before speaking, physically making himself walk away before giving into the urge to punch Marcus in the mouth.

“Do you know how long it was before I got to sit at the adult table?” Thomas walked back behind the couch, turning to face Marcus when he was safely behind. “It was when I brought in my first client. Which I don't recall you having done. And when you screwed up that patent and Wyatt went _ape shit_ on me, I didn't put that on you, I took it on myself. Because that's my job. And it's _your_ job to do what _I_ say when I say it. So if you're talking about _loyalty_ , you better _fucking earn it_.”

“You're right.” Marcus took a step back. He let out his anger in a hot breath which left him feeling dejected. Barely concealed panic began to settle in his eyes. “I said I'm sorry and I meant it. Thomas… _Mr. Reagan_...I want you to... I _need_ you to trust me, okay? And I will work as _long_ as I can, as _hard_ as it takes to make that happen.” Marcus chuckled pathetically. “I mean, you don't even have to _pay_ me, all right? I'll-I’ll work for free.”

Thomas straightened. His hand came out of his pocket and rasped his knuckles on the top of the couch, staring blankly through Marcus as if he were no longer there. “For free…”

“What?” Marcus became confused. He looked around where he stood to see if something else had caught Thomas’s eye. When he turned back, Thomas was taking a seat behind his desk. “I meant...Not _forever_. Just as, like, a probationary th-”

“Julia,” Thomas cut across Marcus as he began to type on his laptop, “tell Wyatt I'm on my way over.”

“Do you never have to press a button?” Marcus muttered, casually strolling up to the desk. He glanced out the window and saw Julia looking back.

_“Got it. And Haley wants to see Marcus in her office right now.”_

Thomas and Marcus shared a glance of equal parts curiosity and concern.

**HALEY PETERS’S OFFICE**

            Once again, Marcus felt like a child sitting in the principal’s office waiting to be scolded. She stood behind her desk staring out over the city from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Thankful for her turned back, Marcus quickly wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and tried to calm his tapping foot.

“Louis told me what you did at the club,” Haley finally spoke up.

“I bet he didn't tell you the whole story.”

Haley turned to him with a reserved smile playing on her lips. “He told me enough to impress me.” She took advantage of his shock to sit on the edge of her desk beside Marcus’s chair. “New business is hard. People will promise you the world but until they sign that engagement letter, it means nothing. Now I don't know what you told Tom Keller, but bringing a client in at your age...” She cocked her head to the side to appraise him for a moment. “That reminds me of Thomas.”

Before Marcus could bashfully stutter through a ‘thank you’, Louis walked into the office with Tom Keller behind him. Both Haley and Marcus stood.

“Haley, before we get started, there's something in the retainer that Tom pointed out.” Louis held up a blue folder and waved it gently.

“It's not a big deal, really.” Tom shook his head, not wanting to make a fuss out of a comment. “We were just—“

“No, no, no, no, no, no.” Louis waved his hand over Tom’s worrying. “Like I said, we're here to make you happy. Right?”

As Louis joined Haley at her desk to discuss the changes in Tom’s paperwork, Marcus went over to Tom.

“I thought you wanted nothing to do with him?” Marcus asked disbelieving quiet enough so the others wouldn’t hear.

“I didn't.” Tom chuckled. “But then I thought about it. And he might not be a very good person, but a little deviousness is the sort of thing you look for in a good lawyer. I mean, the other guy I was with, he was too nice. We were buddies, we went to school together. It's time I grew up, got a real shark.”

“Well, I had no intention of being that way to get your business.”

“That's exactly why I insisted that you be my point man.” Tom smiled and patted Marcus’s arm. “I want someone being devious _for_ me, not _to_ me.”

Marcus chuckled darkly underneath his breathe. He shook his head watching Louis and Haley leaning over the paperwork on her desk. “You know, Louis would've never told Haley that I existed, let alone that I helped him if you hadn't done that.”

“Hey, the way I see it, the three of us stick together, we'll make a pretty good team.”

“You know,” a cruel smile spread over Marcus’s lips. “I got a better idea.”

**SUNTECH DIGITAL**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

“$20 million?” Wyatt signed disappointed, leaning back in his egg-shaped chair, head lolling along the back’s edge.

“They claim it's their final offer.”

“That's what it cost to make the prototype!” Wyatt angrily tossed the proposal into Thomas’s lap. “Not to mention my _entire savings_ and two years of my life!”

“Wyatt...” Thomas said as calmly as he could. “They know we're stalled on our injunction. Which means, _to them_ , they're giving you a fair price as an insurance policy against the risk of possibly losing the interference claim.”

“I don't care what it is to them! It's not fair.”

“Fair or not, it's their final offer.”

Wyatt shook his head, starring hopelessly defeated at Thomas. “You think I should take it?

A rueful smile transformed Thomas’s cautious face. “I think you should tell them to shove it up their ass.”

**MEETING ROOM #8**

Within the hour, the seven lawyers of Velocity Data Solutions, spear headed by George Salinger, sat smugly across the length on the conference table from Wyatt. Thomas stood tall beside his client.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I'm terribly sorry, but we have a problem.”

“What problem? We came down here because you led us to believe that your client was ready to accept our settlement agreement.”

“And I thought he would.” Thomas nodded mournfully. “Look, I took him the offer. I presented it to him, and recommended that he take it. In fact, I _urged_ him to take it. You know what he told me to do? He told me to tell you to _shove it up your ass_ , George.”

George chuckled. “Now I know you didn't have me come all the way down here just to tell me that, Thomas.”

“You're right. That's not all Wyatt said. He said rather than spending years fighting this out in court,” Thomas sat down to the right of Wyatt while Wyatt pulled up detailed schematics on the whiteboards behind him, “in 48 hours he's gonna put _this_ online.”

“That's a little rough,” Wyatt defended the blueprints happily, “but you get the idea.”

George sat up straighter in his chair, his hands resting on the table. “What are you showing us? Is this a website?

“Available at the Suntech domain name.” Thomas nodded. “All the design plans and calculations have been uploaded.”

“Is this online now?” George raised his voice, his finger tapping the table harshly.

“Can be.” Wyatt leaned back in his chair, relaxed and with hands folded over his stomach. He even used the tips of his feet to gently turn the chair side to side to show how uncaring he was about Velocity’s concern. “Which means the whole world will have access to my designs.”

“There’ll be ten knock-offs of that phone before you can catch a cab back to your headquarters.” Thomas pointed over his head to the boards.

“We could file an injunction,” George threatened.

“Not before tomorrow,” Thomas smugly shook his head, glancing at Wyatt. “And once that technology is out there, good luck putting that genie back in the bottle.”

“Well, then we'll sue!”

“But my client won't have any money,” Thomas smiled. “What he _will_ have is credit for the initial design. Which, after he incorporates under a different name, will be worth a hell of a lot more money than the $20 million that you're offering.”

George bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. Anger at Thomas burned in his eyes. “And you're saying that this was all _your client's_ idea.”

Thomas winked.

**OUTSIDE A LAW FIRM**

**NIGHT**

            Thomas sat on the hood of his sedan while waiting for Judge Donald Pearl to exit. When he did, he said goodnight to his lawyer and waited for her to walk some distance away before he approached the car. Judge Pearl spared a glance towards Carson, who was politely standing at the rear of the car with his back turned to watch the oncoming traffic.

“Thought you weren't coming.”

“I had to settle a case first” Thomas said by way of apology.

Noticing the envelope in Thomas’s hands, he gestured to it. “You have the paperwork we talked about?”

Thomas obligingly handed it to Judge Pearl. What was inside was apparently not what the judge was expecting. He took a stack of document out of the envelope to read further. “What is this?”

“It's a copy of the judicial conduct codes. A friend of mine works at the Attorney General's office gave it to me – we had a nice chat about you. I told him if you were willing to blackmail someone once, chances are you'd done it before.” A smile tugged at the corner of Thomas’s mouth. “He's _very_ anxious to meet you.”

Judge Pearl let out a frustrated sigh through his flared nostrils. He push the judicial codes at Thomas’s chest. “You think you can get away with _screwing my wife_ and then have me investigated?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw Carson take a step forward. Thomas held up his hand to stop Carson. He took back the codes easily. “You actually have it the wrong way around. The only thing I've done so far…is have you investigated.”

“What?”

“I never slept with Lauren. But I knew you'd never believe me so I kept my mouth shut. But now that she's getting a divorce, my policy no longer applies. And of course, she's free to date whoever she pleases.” He stood up and pushed the codes into the judge’s chest, the force of which causes the judge to automatically grasp them, and leaned in to say, “And she pleases me.”

Thomas chuckled pulling away. Carson was already in the driver’s seat with the engine running. Thomas gave the judge a wink before sliding into the sedan.

“Enjoy your evening, Donald. I know Lauren will.”

**PETERS REAGAN & CLINE**

**ARCHIEVES ROOM**

Marcus had his back turned to the door as he boxed the Suntech files to put on the shelf. He jumped slightly when Thomas’s voice startled him.

“I've always heard about this place. Which room is Hoffa buried in?”

Marcus chuckled and turned. “Not sure, but the Arc of the Covenant's just down the hall on the left.”

“When you're finished down here, I'd like you to come upstairs and start putting together a settlement memorandum.”

Marcus stilled, unsure of what he’d just heard. He turned slowly. “They went for it?”

Thomas nodded with a small smile. “Thanks to your idea.”

“Well, I mean, it wasn't really my idea—“

“They're settling for 400 million.”

“Okay, yeah, that was my idea.” Marcus immediately dropped the stuttering humble act. He waited a moment before asking, “So does this mean I get to keep my job?”

“I wanna talk to you about that,” Thomas took a step forward, but Marcus interrupted him before he could continue.

“Before you do, Thomas—“

“Do we have to have a conversation about how you keep interrupting me?” Thomas may have sounded stern, but his eyes were soft. He pulled out a folded paper from his suit jacket and handed it to Marcus. Look, sometimes when someone pulls a gun on you, instead of bullets it's filled with blanks. It's a copy of your drug test results.”

“But this says I passed.” Marcus had to read over the results three times to make sure what he was reading was real.

“You did.”

“Louis showed me a fake?”

“I'm gonna go have a talk with him.”

“You know what,” Marcus looked up from the test with renewed focus. The kind of determination Thomas appreciated when he first saw the kid. “Why don't you let me do it?”

Thomas raised his eyebrow. “You think you're ready for the adult table?”

“What, didn't you hear?” Marcus said smugly as he put his suit jacket on. “I just landed my first client – Tom Keller.”

“Why do you think I'm showing you this now and not going straight to Louis?” Thomas winked at him and stepped aside to let him pass. “Go easy on him.”

“Nope.”

“Good boy.”

**LOUIS STERN’S OFFICE**

Marcus smacked the real drug test onto Louis’s desk. “You lied. That other drug test you showed me was a fake.”

“How'd you figure that out?” He asked with false curiosity. He uncaringly swept the report off of his papers with the back of his hand.

“Someone once told me I have an eye for detail when it comes to important paperwork.”

“Well, maybe you're not as good as you think you are, or you would've caught it sooner.”

“Okay, so this was all some sort of test?” Marcus scoffed. “You blackmail me, you jeopardize my job?”

“Stop. Stop.” Louis scrunched up his face like he was in pain and waved his hand to stop Marcus from speaking. “We all came out ahead, didn't we? That new client's gonna bring us millions. Bonus point for you, Haley knows your name now.” Louis chuckled. “It's a win-win. Now go away.”

“You're right. She does know my name. Which is why she'll listen when I tell her exactly what happened.”

As Marcus was walking away, hands in his pockets, Louis called out to him. “Okay, but before you do that,” Marcus lazily turned around. “It is...that time again, isn't it?”

“What time?” Marcus sighed, playing along.

Louis raised his eyebrows and smiled as he pulled out a small medical cup from his desk. “Pee in a cup time.”

“And now you know I'd fail,” Marcus chuckled darkly. Louis got up from his desk and strolled to Marcus with the cup in hand.

“Of course, you can run to mommy, tell her your story, and take your chances. Or,” Louis, with a dramatic flourish, held out the cup, “you can take the test and trust that I'll keep it to myself as my way of _thanking_ you.”

“Ah, you know,” Marcus sighed, taking the cup from Louis. He bounced the cup in his hand for a moment before shaking his head and chuckling. He walked past Louis to the bar cart on the other side of the room and popped open a can of lime green energy drink. He kept his back turned to Louis as he poured to contents into the small cup.

“I actually did some reading of the P-R-and-L drug policy as well. It turns out that you have to wait three months before you can request another drug test. See, it's a little detail that you might've missed.” He screwed on the orange lid and tossed it to Louis as he walked past him to the door. “So, _drink up_. Oh, and I spoke to Tom Keller. He says that he feels he'd be best served with a combination of me and Thomas. I think you'll get that call in the morning.”

He shut the door behind him and left with his head held high. 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**SUNDAY**

**REAGAN FAMILY HOME – BAY RIDGE, BROOKLYN**

          “I know it doesn't make any sense,” Assistant District Attorney Erin Reagan was calling out to Detective Daniel Reagan from the dining room table as he brought in a bowl of green beans from the kitchen. “But it's the _law_.”

It was Sunday evening, which naturally meant the centerpiece family dinner after mass. For as long as Thomas can remember, and possibly as long as his father has been alive, the Reagan family has always gathered around the antique table to pray and discuss the moral issues they face in their personal lives and on the job. Police Commissioner Frank Reagan sat at one end of a large dining room table; on the opposite end, was his father and former commissioner Henry. Around the table are the four remaining Reagan children along with Danny’s wife, Linda, and the three grandchildren. Unconsciously, they sit in the same seats from week to week.

This week, the family was focused on Danny’s case – the sudden rape of a college undergrad girl in a serious of assaults around campus. Their prime suspect, Sebastian Calso, is the son of an Argentinian diplomat with immunity protecting the entire family. A partial plate a witness gave matches that of the son’s car; the DNA found inside and on the victim is also a partial match to the diplomat, meaning a male son of his committed the crime.

Yet, with all the evidence Danny has, an arrest and conviction will never happen, leaving the victim, Melisa Ryder, in the hospital and her grieving father to become bitter and resentful of the police. Danny wouldn’t admit it to the dining room full of law enforcement, but he had a suspicion that Walter, the victim’s father, was going to take the law into his own hands it his daughter’s rapist wasn’t arrested.

And soon.

“No. You know what?” Danny said as he entered the room. “It makes perfect sense. The diplomat gets to protect his kid, not the electrician.”

“You know I’m not saying-” Erin tried to defend her statement, but Danny cut across her.

“I got a better idea.” He pulled out his chair and sat beside his wife. “How about we round up every diplomat in the city and send them back to wherever they came from?”

Henry chuckled. “I ever tell you about the time I had the Russian ambassador's car towed to the South Bronx? A little _glasnost_ straight up his tailpipe.”

“That little stunt put you in the doghouse with Washington for a year, Pop.” Frank commented sternly, but a crinkle in the corner of his eye gave away his good humor.

“Also put me in favor with the rank and file for life.”

“Great Grandpa was in a doghouse?” Sean, Danny and Linda’s youngest, asked with wonder.

“It's an expression, stupid.” Jack, their oldest, corrected him.

“Okay, boys.” Linda scolded. With a look only a mother could give, the boys backed down.

“I'm with Danny on this one.” Jamie spoke up, shoveling mashed potatoes onto his plate. “These people abuse diplomatic privilege. They don't pay their parking tickets, their rent. They scoff at our laws.”

“Finally,” Danny chuckled, smirking at his kid brother. “The job is knocking some sense into this kid.”

“You're with Danny on this?” Thomas asked calmly, no accusation only curiosity, turning to his left.

“I am.” Jamie nodded.

“You think that spoiled dipstick should get away with it, Thomas?” Danny shook his head as he cut his steak. “I know you don’t exactly play on the sunny side of the law, but I would think you of all people-”

Thomas set down his wine glass a little harder than he meant to, causing the glass to sing and the wine to slosh. Around the table, the family was getting quiet and looking down to where Thomas sat between Henry and Jamie. Thomas kept a steady eye on his eldest brother; his face carefully blank. He spoke low and slow, letting the weight of his words and the impact they would carry hit Danny as hard as Danny’s accusation had hit Thomas.

“ _’I of all people’_ ,” Thomas repeated Danny’s words, “don’t support rape.”

The lump of meat Danny was chewing caught in his throat when he realized what he had said. He put his silverware down and swallowed hard. He looked up apologetically around the table, barely meeting the knowing eyes of his siblings, father, and grandfather to feel their immense disapproval, shock, and horror that he had made a comment like that so thoughtlessly.

It was quiet, too quiet for too long, that Nicky, Jack, and Sean were beginning to take notice of the tension surrounding the table. They looked from Thomas’s carefully cool face to Danny’s somber remorseful one, hoping to pick up on a clue.

When Danny summoned up the courage to look his brother in the eyes, opening his mouth to apologize, Thomas cut him off.

“I just think you have a naive view of things. Diplomatic immunity may not be perfect, but it serves a purpose. Turn the tables and look at our diplomats abroad. They don't pay their parking tickets either, but I'm talking about the female diplomat in the Middle East who ends up in jail because she wears inappropriate garb and doesn't have diplomatic immunity. Do you really want our ambassadors in tenuous countries to be subject to trumped up charges, thrown in jail, and used as pawns in a diplomatic game of chicken? The world's a lot bigger than the Five Boroughs, Danny.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Thomas downed the remainder of his wine in one gulp and stood, taking his plate with him. “Erin, call Judge Barthell. He’ll be at his son's Holy Communion party tonight. If he won’t listen, drop my name. Tell him I’m calling in my favor. He’ll make the exception once he hears what she’s got to say.”

Thomas needed to get away from his bother and cool off in the kitchen. Behind him, Thomas could hear Nicky quietly asking her mother,

“What was all that about?”

“Don’t worry about it, Nicky,” Erin told her just as softly.

“Uncle Danny said-”

“Your Uncle Danny opened his big mouth and said something he shouldn’t,” Danny grumbled.

In the kitchen, Thomas put his plate in the sink and his wine glass on the counter. He hadn’t realized he had been clenching his fist until he found small crescent moons in the palm of his right hand, little flecks of drying blood around the corners. He held his hand over the sink to see just how much he was shaking.

Thomas still had nightmares, almost every day, about that night but rarely did a member of his family bring up the slightest mention of it. In their line of work, there are often rape cases they felt the need to air out with others, but Thomas had always known them to pick and choose their words carefully, dance around the subject or drop it entirely while he was around. And he had always been grateful for that.

Except for tonight.

He had known what [Sebastian Calso](http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0240527/?ref_=ttfc_fc_cl_t19) had done, how could Thomas not with the story on every news channel, paper, and radio in the city. Somehow he had expected the evening’s conversation to be about diplomatic immunity and other ‘nonsense’ rules and regulations Danny would love to skate around. Thomas had hoped the actual mention of the crime would go without saying given the three kids in the room.

Thomas gripped the edges of the sink. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on his breathing. In: one….two…three. Out: one…two….three. The overwhelming darkness of his mind conjured up the smell of stale beer and cigarette ash, the feeling of cold concrete and steel dust digging into his bare skin. Rough, calloused hands gripping his small body, pulling and shoving him. Holding him down. A burning, searing pain on his chest….his back….his –

“You okay?” A deep, rumble of a voice sounded from behind Thomas, causing him to jump slightly and grip the sink tighter until his knuckles were white. He glanced over his shoulder to see his father standing in the doorway coming from the foyer hall, and not the dining room.

“Fine.”

“You got up pretty quick,” Frank said, strolling in, his hands shoved into the deep pockets of his favorite oatmeal-cream cardigan. “Don’t think you finished eating.”

“Lost my appetite.”

Frank nodded, looking at a spot on the ground he found interesting. “You still seeing that shrink?”

Thomas sighed. He kept his back to his father as he washed and dried his hands. When he finished a minute later, he turned to his father. Frank was still staring down at the floor. Thomas knew his father wanted to make sure he was alright, but at the same time didn’t want to pry into his son’s deeply private business.

“I’m seeing one, yes.”

“But not the one I met a couple years back…?”

“No. I switched a little while after that.”

Frank nodded. He looked up at his son. For a moment, Frank didn’t see the successful man that stood before him; instead, he saw the broken, bloodied, and defeated little boy he watched over in his hospital bed for months on end while he struggled to recover. Frank knew a large part of his son died that night in the building construction site and no matter what he or Mary did to bring their little boy back from it, it was never enough.

Tonight, they had the same pale face, trembling hands, and sad, sunken eyes that were all the wide for their face. And then it was gone. In a flash, Thomas controlled his features to a blank stare.

“I’ve got to go.” Thomas grabbed his suit jacket off the coat rack beside the back kitchen door. As he was shrugging it on, said, “Tell Pops the steaks were great.”

“Tommy-” Frank made the move to reach out and grab his son’s arm, to stop him from leaving so quickly. Thomas flinched, pulling his arm away and wincing before he could stop himself. He saw the hurt and sadness pass through his father’s face.

Breathing was becoming more difficult for Thomas; he felt a panic attack coming on. He needed to get out of there, get fresh away. Get away from any reminders of that night. He grabbed the knob for the door and twisted. He was halfway out, the door safely between him and his father.

“I’m sorry.” Thomas hesitated. “I-I have to go.”

**SUNDAY Night – Gotham Car Club 8:30PM**

          Thomas was looking down at his watch, getting more annoyed at his young associate by the ticking hand, when a beautiful woman in a black dress approached it. She was roughly his height with red stilettos accenting her athletic calves. Her dress did the same for her hips and was cut modestly enough. She pulled her strawberry blonde hair to one shoulder, elegantly framing her face, as she approached Thomas.

“The 2011 Tesla Roadster Sport,” She gestured to the white sports car in front of them. “Offered only to our most exclusive members.”

“You know your vehicles,” Thomas commented with a smile as she handed him the keys. He took a slow walk around the car to appreciate it from every angle. “I promise to have her back before she turns into a Pontiac.”

“Hey, Thomas.” A man called out as he approached. He was in his late fifties and obviously wealthy from his designer clothing to the buxom, well-kept young woman trailing behind him. Blonde, of course.

“Laurence,” Thomas nodded.

“How would you feel about taking something other than the Tesla tonight?” Laurence offered, gesturing to the various other sports and classic cars in the showroom.

“It goes against my policy.”

“What policy?”

“My ‘I want the Tesla’ policy.” Not missing an opportunity to win a gamble, he held up the keys. “Tell you what. You know more about the car than I do, it's yours.”

Laurence nodded in thought for a moment, gazing down at the car. “Horsepower.”

“Really? That's where we're starting?”

“Well, if it's so simple, just answer it.”

“288. Top speed.”

“125 miles an hour. 0 to 60—“

“In 3.7 seconds.”

“You know your cars,” Laurence conceded.

“I'm an enthusiast. And I've been waiting for the Tesla for months.”

“Okay,” Laurence nodded, gazing affectionately over the car before turning towards the Aston Martins.

Thomas let him walk a bit before calling out his name. When the man turned, Thomas tossed him the keys to the Tesla. “Knock yourself out.”

While Thomas wrote out a message on the club’s stationary, the sales woman from before, her golden name plate on the desk reading _Jessica_ , stared at him in confusion.

“So why'd you let him have it?”

Thomas chuckled. “Because it never hurts to have a man who runs a $2 billion hedge fund owe you one.”

“But if you're just gonna give it to him, why bother to compete first?”

“Because if I didn't beat him, he wouldn't feel he owed me one.” He tore off his message, folded it, and handed it to Jessica between his middle and index fingers. “I'm suddenly feeling old school. Why don't you surprise me, huh?”

Ten minutes later, Thomas Reagan is rolling away in a 1968 black mustang. In his rearview, he could see his perpetually associate, Marcus Frasier, ride onto the curb on his bike. He stopped just short of Jessica and stared out after Thomas. He saw Jessica hand Marcus the note Thomas left him before Thomas turned the corner.

“Eight o’clock means eight o’clock, kid,” Thomas muttered underneath his breath, his own voice being drowned out by the roar of the engine.

**Jacob K. Javits Convention Center – a little after 9PM**

            “Glad you showed up.” Thomas said as he walked up behind Marcus, leaning into the raised doors of grey DeLorean made famous by _Back to the Future_.

“Oh, hey. I'm sorry. I was just—“

“Shut up.” Thomas waved him off, walking away and forcing Marcus to follow. “Listen. You see these cars?”

All around them, surrounded by roped off areas and private security, were dozens of classic, sport, and formula one cars taking up the convention center lobby. All were varying degrees of impressive modern engineering. A chic banner hanging from the balcony proclaimed double ‘M’s in green font, underneath it, in white, was the company’s name – McKernon Motors.

“Yeah. They're awesome.”

“They suck. They're _nothing_ compared to this.” Thomas lead them to the center of the room, where, on a raised stage, was the company’s prize formula one car. Marcus couldn’t contain his low whistled as they walked up the steps to gaze at it more closely.

“The engine in this car is made by McKernon Motors,” Thomas continued, “the industry standard in formula one. In fact, they've won more championships than any other engine on the planet.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Avery McKernon was the first client I ever brought into the firm when I first started.”

“ _Was_?”

“He died three months ago.”

“Oh, God. I'm so sorry—“

“Not the point.” Thomas held up his hand to stop anymore of Marcus’s sentimentality. While he would never admit it to the kid, Thomas was bereaved to hear of his friend’s death. “McKernon's engines and his company have something in common – they win, like me. You'll be handling all their paperwork.”

“Oh, so you brought me here to give me an appreciation for the product.”

“No, I brought you here to meet Robert Stensland, the new CEO. He'll want to put your name with a face.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Robert's a tightwad, and we don't bill you out for nothing.”

“Wait a minute.” Marcus lowered his voice and stepped closer to Thomas. “Is this conversation right now billable?”

“You bet your ass it is,” Thomas smirked.

“Yes.” Marcus pumped his fist, spinning a little on the spot. He help up his hand to Thomas for a high-five. “Up top. Come on.” Thomas glanced back and forth from the hand to his associate’s face trying to understand if this moment was actually happening. “What? We're making all this money. We can't celebrate it?”

“Not in poor taste.”

Marcus held back the urge to roll his eyes, and instead gave himself a silent high-five before lowering his hand. Thomas shook his head.

“Dominic,” Thomas called out, stepping aside. “Marcus, I'd like you to meet Dominic Barone, the man responsible for the design and production of this engine. This is my new associate, Marcus Frasier.”

Dominic glance Marcus up and down before turning his back on him and facing Thomas. “He's just a kid. Are you trying to steal his soul before he hits puberty?”

“Okay, obviously-” Marcus tried to step in, becoming quickly familiar with people who’ve been rubbed the wrong way by Thomas.

“You're still upset about our labor negotiations.” Thomas stated, rather than accused.

“My-- My workers took a big hit.”

“And McKernon took a bigger one. Both of which poised the company to be strong for years. I was always straight with you about that.”

“Sophisticated words for a guy who screwed us.”

“Look, I'm sorry you feel that way, but you have to admit, I did have the courtesy to do it from the front.”

As Dominic walked away, Marcus noticed the man’s fist as balling and unballing by his side. “Wow. Yeah, he really appreciates what you've done for the company.”

“Robert Stensland,” Thomas greeting as another man walked onto the platform. “I'd like you to meet your new associate, Marcus Frasier.”

Marcus extended his hand, but Robert ignored him. Instead, with one look to Marcus, Robert turned to Thomas. “We're not paying him what we pay you.”

“Nor should you, but I assure you he's highly effective.”

“Well, I'll believe it when I see it.” Robert downed a flute of champagne as he turned to walk around his prize car.

“I had him read your corporate lease last week. Ask him anything.”

Robert paused. “That's a 300-page document.” Thomas only smirked, daring Robert to call his bluff. “Okay, what are the terms?”

“Okay,” Marcus turned his back on Robert to whisper anxiously in Thomas’s ear. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“The named lessee was the parent company, Glendon Enterprises.”

“Right,” Marcus sighed, clearly more relaxed. He turned to Robert and began spouting facts. “35,000 square feet at 19 west 57th. $80 a foot. Expires in six months with an option to extend. Exercisable in 30 days.”

“Who signed the lease?”

“You did.”

“What's my middle name?”

“The letter ‘ _L’_.”

“What happens in the event the company no longer exists?”

“That wasn't in the lease.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because the lease I read wasn't 300 pages. It was 364. And I can tell you what's on any one of those pages, but I can't tell you that. That's how I can be sure.”

“Excellent.” Robert nodded and walked around the car once again to stand beside Thomas. “You can get him started on the new deal right away.”

“New deal?!” Thomas asked, allowing himself to show surprise.

“Yeah.” Robert smiled, excited by this new opportunity. “I have found a buyer willing to spend $200 million for the ground underneath the flagship factory.”

“Where are you moving manufacturing?”

“Well, that's the beauty of it. The real asset of McKernon Motors is the name. We move overseas, we save ourselves a bundle.”

“Up front payout while retaining the name and maintaining cash flow over time.” Thomas smiled like an idiot while Robert nodded in the praise. “That's genius.”

“Exactly!”

“All right, we'll take care of everything.” Thomas reassured him with a chuckle and a handshake. Once again, Marcus held out his hand only to be given the empty champagne flute. As soon as Robert was out of earshot, Thomas furiously walked off the platform. Marcus had to hurry to catch up and wasn’t sure if Thomas was talking to Marcus or himself. “Jesus. I knew he was cheap. I didn't realize he was an idiot.”

“What-What are you talking about?”

“The asset's not the name. It's the _quality_. He moves overseas, it's gonna kill the goose that laid the fuckin’ golden engine.”

“Wait a minute.” Marcus spotted a passing waiter and placed the glass careful on the tray as he rushed past. “I thought you didn't get emotionally attached to the client.”

“I'm emotionally attached to me.” Thomas stopped suddenly, causing Marcus to skid a little as to not bump into his boss. Thomas looked past Marcus and at the car they had just power-walked from. “Look, I made a bet that this company would grow and my billables would grow with it. We're holding a pair of aces, and this asshole's trying to fold.”

“So? What are you gonna do?”

“ _I'm_ not gonna do anything; I can’t personally sabotage my firm’s client. _You_ , my errant associate, are gonna go through those bylaws, and you're gonna find me a way to get rid of Robert Stensland.”

“No, no, no, no. I have to go see my grandmother.”

“Uh-uh.” Thomas was taken aback. “Is she dying?”

“No.” Marcus looked horrified. “No, no, thank God!”

“Cancel on her.”

 


	20. Chapter 20

**MONDAY**

**APARTMENT OF THOMAS REAGAN**

            Thomas’ scream bounced off the bedroom walls and woke him from his nightmare. He’s smothered in sweat; the stench of stale beer, cigarettes, and steel dust lingered in his mind mixed with drunken violence. Sitting up, he put his head in his hands as he tried to calm his erratic heart and breathing that bordered on hyperventilation.

            It’s been like this the past couple nights.

            He glanced at the clock beside his bed – 3:00 a.m. He needed all the head-space he could get trying to come up with a plan to deal with McKernon Motors tomorrow…today…and that began with a clear head and some sleep.

            Clambering out of bed, he wandered into the kitchen. He filled a glass of water and caught sight of himself in the reflection of the glass wall at the other side of the room. He turns away in disgust looking at his scars.

            _You turned her down. She wanted you. And you turned her down._

Last Wednesday morning haunted his thoughts. His last image of Eleanor, her beautiful face marked with humiliation and hurt, taunts him. If Doctor Roth were back from his vacation to Israel, Thomas would call. His psychobabble shit would stop Thomas from feeling needlessly lousy.

            He wanted a new distraction, a new sub. _Eleanor is meant to be your new sub_ , a voice in the back of his mind reminds him. He couldn’t call Bedelia looking for a new girl when it was Bedelia who sent him Eleanor. As a favor, no less. The strange truth was, Thomas really didn’t want another sub. He wanted Eleanor.

            Her disappointment, her wounded pride, and her subtle contempt remained with Thomas. She walked back into her building, away from him, without a backwards glance. Perhaps ! raised her hopes too high by asking her for coffee; hopes for a normal ‘relationship’ dashed by disappointment.

            The polite thing to do would be to apologize. They’d have to work together anyhow seeing as her career and his future prospects of subs were on the line and being controlled by Bedelia.

            Thomas left the glass in the sink and trudged back to bed. He was still staring at the ceiling and utterly exhausted when the radio beside him sprang to life at 5:45 a.m.

            _Fuck! This is ridiculous._

            The program on the radio, BBC News, was a welcome distraction to Thomas’ thoughts until the second news item began. It’s about the sale of a rare manuscript – an unfinished novel by Jane Austen called _The Watsons_ that’s being auctioned in London.

            Even the news seemed to remind him of Eleanor. She’s an incurable romantic with a love for English classics. Thomas had his own collection of books, a small number being first edition English classics. No Austen or Brontes, but he did have Hardys.

            A thought struck him. _Of course!_ He knew what he could do to stop obsessing over Eleanor’s hurt feelings. The girl wasn’t worth nearly as much to him as the re-discovered Austen manuscript, but she was worth something memorable. Within moments, he was in his library with _Jude the Obscure_ and a boxed set of _Tess of the d’Urbervilles_ in its three volumes laid out on the billiard table in front of him. Both, to Thomas, were bleak with tragic themes.

His niece, Nicky, loved to invade his library and settle in a chair by the window with a book. Her latest read from his collection was _Dune_. He keeps it out on her chair, a scrap of paper sticking out the top as her bookmark. He wondered how Eleanor would look in this room. She loved to read so naturally she would love this room. He pictured her in his leather reading chair, legs tucked to her chest and curled underneath a blanket, book in one hand and a steaming cup of weak Earl Grey in the other –

Thomas shook off the thought and examined the books. Even though _Jude_ is in better condition, it’s still no contest to _Tess_. In _Jude,_ there is no redemption. He’ll send her _Tess_ with a suitable quote to match. It’s not the most romantic book, considering the evils, but Tess has a brief taste of romance before exacting her revenge. And who doesn’t like revenge?

Eleanor mentioned Hardy as one of her favorites and Thomas was sure she’d never seen, let alone owned, a first edition. Feeling calmer and more composed, and a little pleased with himself, he headed back into his room to change into his running gear.

**AUDI A3 PRESTIGE SEDAN**

            In the back of the car, Thomas leafed through book one of the _Tess_ first edition, looking for a quote, and at the same time wondering when Eleanor’s last exam was. Thomas had read the book years ago and had a lazy knowledge of the plot. His mother had always said her two youngest sons, Thomas and Jamie, were the more literary type like her; whereas her three oldest were like their father.

“Mr. Reagan,” Carson interrupted. “We’re here, sir.”

He climbed out of the car and walked around the hood to open Thomas’s door. When he was out, Carson handed the keys to a P.R. & C. security guard waiting for them at the curb. The man was dressed in the standard well-tailored black suit and crew-cut hair. The guard nodded to Thomas and then Carson before getting into the car and driving it to the parking deck.

Thomas climbed the steps, the books tucked under his arm, leading towards the plaza that hosted Peters Reagan & Cline. It was a large building; all curved glass, steel, and stone that could easily be mistaken for ivory. While _Peters Reagan & Cline _was one of the firm names stenciled prominently in black in stone above the glass doors, the only marker for this building, Thomas still felt a rush when he was his name.

The doorman, Barry, nodded to Thomas as he opened the glass door on the right as they approached. “Good morning, Mr. Reagan.”

“How’s your son, Barry?”

“Much better, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Give my love to Loni.”

“Will do, Mr. Reagan.” Barry smiled wide, tipping his cap to Thomas once more.

Inside, flanking the glass double doors he and Carson just entered, were two more guards. They gave a curt nod to Carson as he walked by. The lobby, like the outside, was made of glass, steel, and ivory. In the forward center was a metal and glass-detailed front desk. There was a man from security, identical to the two men at the door, standing behind the receptionist. She greeted Thomas with a flirtatious wave while the man merely nodded. Both Carson and Thomas handed over their I.D. cards to be scanned in.

“Have a wonderful day, Mr. Reagan,” The receptionist smiled, making a show of handing him his card back. Only to be polite, he gave her a nod.

Behind the desk were two elevator terminals divided by a white stone wall. P.R. & C.’s elevators were in terminal two on the right, bays four through six. On the button console inside, only floors five through seven were listed. Carson exited on the sixth floor, where all of security was housed. As head of P.R. & C.’s security, his office would be there as opposed to all other offices on the seventh floor.

The lobby of Peters Reagan & Cline was nearly identical to that of the lobby he had just come from. The identifying characteristic of the floor was the firm’s name in large steel mounted to the wall greeting employees and clients as they exited the elevators. There was nothing to the right of the elevators except a stone wall. To the left was the entrance of the firm.

Olivia Peirce, a very attractive, well groomed, blonde, stood in front of the reception desk and smiled pleasantly at Thomas as he walked in. She handed him a steaming mug of double espresso with no milk.

“Good morning, Mr. Reagan.”

“Good morning, Ms. Peirce.”

As he began to walk to the right towards his office, Olivia followed him steadily as she relayed his morning messages. “Ms. Peters would like me to remind you about the Senior Partner’s breakfast at eight am. Also, a junior associate needs to be chosen to host the Rookie Dinner this Friday night. She would like your thoughts on who shows the most promise.”

“Marcus Frasier. I need him to look good. Because if he looks good, I look _great_.” By now they had reached the elegant white sandstone desk standing guard in front of Thomas’s office. Julia Vicario, Thomas’s executive assistant, got up from her desk with a cup of coffee in her hands. She gave Olivia a withering stare and the young receptionist scampered off back to her desk. The scoop neck of her Oscar de la Renta black dress showed off her Aerial Sol Halo Necklace that Thomas had given her several years ago for her. 0.90 carat diamond was housed in a round solar design in 18k white gold necklace. It had cost him a little over $7k, but Julia would always be worth it.

“You know I’m the only one who’s allowed to bribe you,” Julia smiled, baring teeth. She took the espresso Olivia had handed him and replaced it with her own. “She wants to replace me.”

Thomas chuckled and smoothed a strand of her chestnut behind her ear and stroked her temple with his thumb. “That’ll never happen and you know it.”

“But it’s always nice you hear you say it,” She reached up and straightened his tie. She patted it with a smile. “Boss.”

“I’d like you to find out the schedule of this,” He pulled out a slip of paper he had written Eleanor’s name on, “person. Both academic and work.”

“Alright,” she mused, moving back to her desk. “Anything in particular you’d like me to direct at security?”

“Yes. Find out when her last final exam takes place.”

Julia raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow but said now more. Julia had been with Thomas since his brief stint at the D.A.’s office; keeping his life running like a well-oiled machine and knew all of his secrets - both legal and illegal. Julia knew Thomas would be lost without her, and she wasn’t humble about letting him know.

And he loved her for that.

“Oh,” he said from in between his doorway, “Where’s the kid?”

**OFFICE OF THOMAS REAGAN – 7:15am**

            _“Uh... Ugh. Yeah_?” A groggy voice grumbled at Thomas on the other line.

“Did you find anything that'll help me get rid of Stensland?”

_“Uh, yeah,”_ Thomas could hear Marcus shifting, trying to become more alert, papers around him making rustling noises. _“Yeah, I-I think so.”_

“Well, if you're not here when I need it, what good does that do me?”

_“What? It's 7:15-”_

Thomas hung up. He responded to e-mails and ignored memos for the next thirty minutes until Julia walked in with a sealed white envelope. Thomas met her with a broad grin.

“You got it?”

“Picked it up yesterday,” she said cheerfully, handing it to him over his desk.

“Did you sleep with it under your pillow?”

She gave him a wolfish grin. “How I sleep is none of your concern, Mr. Reagan.”

“Yeah, neither is the Yankees' batting order, but that doesn't stop me from thinking about it.” He winked at her and she chuckled. There was a rasp on knuckles against his window, breaking them out of their bubble. Haley Peters stood outside in a gorgeous Gabriela Hearst white silk chiffon dress with herringbone lace. There was a keyhole cut into the jewel neckline that gave a peak at the wonders beneath. She crooked her finger at Thomas and he nodded.

“Back to the real world,” He stood and pecked Julia on her cheek as he refastened the buttons on his suit jacket and headed to the door.

“Thomas.” Haley greeted him, straightening his tie as soon as he walked into the lobby. She patted it affectionately when she was finished. “Promise me you won't be cocky.”

“I understand what's at stake here. I'll be perfectly humble.”

“Liar,” Haley chuckled. She weaved her arm through the crook of his outstretched elbow as they walked towards the conference room.

**ASSOCIATES POOL – 7:45am**

            “7:45.” Delphine Laurent clocked Marcus as he was walking in hurriedly. “Nice of you to show up.”

“Uh, yeah, I was up till 5:00 in the morning.”

Delphine, in her deep plum J. Mendel floral lace sleeveless sheath dress, was struggling to keep up with his pace in her high heels. The dress was nipped into her natural waist with an inverted V seam; straight skirt with fitted silhouette. With how excellent she looked, she did not appreciate the possibility of sweat stains.

“I am kidding. But Monsieur Litt wants to see you, and I do not kid about zat.”

A couple papers tumbled out of his hands at the news. He spun around to the floor and snapped them up in a much uncoordinated manor. “What does he want?”

“I do not know. Monsieur Litt does not let me in on ez game plan, but I kind of prefer it zat way.”

“Okay, um, can you tell him that I have to see Thom– Mr. Reagan first?” Marcus corrected himself after catching her side-eye.

“Your call. But, uh, if you are to be sleeping in your suits, you may want to keep a fresh one in ze office.”

“Is it that bad?”

“It is worse, Pepé Le Pew.” She waved a hand under her nose as she retreated into her office. Marcus hung his head for a moment before slapping his cheeks to wake himself up a little. First stop, breakroom coffee.

**JULIA VICARIO’S DESK**

**“** He's not here,” Julia called out in a sing-song voice as Marcus rushed past her to Thomas’s door. He turned on his heel and casually placed a stack of blue folders on the edge of her desk. She glanced at them, amused, and chuckled. “No.”

Marcus sighed. “Where is he?”

“Senior partner’s breakfast meeting. Once a month, but Thomas usually skips it.”

“Then why go today?”

“The Danishes, of course.”

“Oh. Of course,” Marcus mumbled sarcastically underneath his breath. “That's great. But let me ask you something. What's the difference between a senior partner and...Other partners?”

“Isn't that something you should have been studying when you were pretending to go to Harvard?” Marcus rolled his eyes at her. She smirked, and decided to show pity. “Okay. Haley and Thomas own, run, and operate the firm – they’re the founding partners. They’re names are on the building.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“Below them are the senior partners; those that have to buy into the firm. They share in the profits, but they also have to put up equity.”

“So how much does it cost to buy in?”

“Half a million dollars.”

**ASSOCIATE’S POOL - MARCUS FRAISER’S DESK**

          Louis Litt, the Peter Petegrew of Peters, Reagan, and Cline, sauntered into the associate’s pool. He went straight for Marcus, dropping a folded piece of paper onto his desk.

Curious, Marcus picked it up and began reading. “Peanuts, gluten, strawberries…” He looked up at the rat-faced junior partner. “What is this? A shopping list?”

“No, it's just a list of foods that I'm allergic to, so when you select the venue, _these_ foods are not to be on the menu.”

“A venue for what?”

“No one told you?” Louis asked in mock surprise.

“No one told me,” Marcus sighed. It was too earlier and he was too tired to be playing Louis’s games.

“Oh, drats.” Louis sighed dramatically. “Well, a long-standing Peters, Reagan, and Cline tradition is the rookie dinner, which means _you_ ,”

“The rookie,” Marcus acknowledged when Louis pointed at him.

“Yes. That's right. Are to host a dinner for your fellow associates.” Marcus sighed and fell back into his chair. “Well, come on. Don't look so blue. Oh, it's okay. It's really easy. All you have to do is just find a _unique_ location and then coordinate with 50 other associates. It's really simple. No pressure.”

“And you're allergic to chicken?”

“No, I just don't like it.” Louis was turned to leave when another though crossed his mind. “Oh, by the way, what was so important that you had to see Thomas before you came to see me?”

“Louis, Mr. Reagan doesn't really—“

“Can we-- Can we-- Can we... Can we just—“ Louis annoyingly fake stuttered to show in annoyance. “Shut up.Let me just get something straight, okay? When I ask you a question, I just expect an answer.”

“Uh... McKernon Motors. I was working on the due diligence.”

Louis’s brow furrowed. “And why would that require you to look at the bylaws?”

“State law requires a summary be prepared in the event of a sale-”

“Privately held corporations are exempted.”

Marcus shook his head. “Not if the sale exceeds 150 million.”

“According to who?”

Marcus turned to his computer and began typing. When the computer beeped, he turned the screen to face Louis. “The state's website. I like to be thorough.”

“Well, put it there, buddy.” Louis held out his hand over the small cubicle wall, a fake smile plastered on to his face. Glancing at the hand, Marcus slowly reached out to shake it. Before he could, Louis pulled back. He arched an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

As Louis walked away, Marcus muttered several unkind things underneath his breath.


	21. Chapter 21

**MONDAY CON’T**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

          “Thank you gentlemen,” Haley stood, dismissing the senior partners from the meeting. Thomas remained sitting at the opposite head on the table, fiddling with his pen. Haley began walking over to him, but didn’t sit down until the door had closed behind the last partner. “I understand Stensland is throwing a large amount of legal work our way with the McKernon Motors factory sale.”

Thomas chuckled. “How'd you know that?”

“I hear things. You taking care of him?”

“I am,” Thomas nodded. He opened his mouth to say something else, but his phone vibrated in the interior breast pocket of his suit jacket. “Excuse me.”

Haley waved him off as he stood to stand by the window. He looked down at the caller I.D., slightly surprised. “Carson.”

_“Mr. Reagan. I’m sorry to have bothered you on your private line, Julia said you were out of your office.”_

“Go ahead. Haley and I were just finishing up the Senior Partner’s breakfast.”

_“Ms. Reese’s last exam is this Friday.”_

_Damn_ , Thomas thought. He didn’t have long. “Thank you, Carson. Although you could have had one of your many lackeys do this for you.”

 _“No, sir. It’s my job to know your business.”_ Although Carson’s tone was formal and professional, Thomas knew him well to hear and undercurrent of amusement.

As he returned to the conference table, he sent a text out to Julia, ‘ _Blank notecards for a personal message. Thank you.’_

**OFFICE OF THOMAS REAGAN**

            “Nice of you to finally make it.” Thomas raised his voice as he walking into his own office. Marcus was sitting on the leather sofa, tossing one of Thomas’s prized signed baseballs in the air and catching it inches from his face.

Marcus sat up immediately, placing the ball on the coffee table. “Nice of you to finally show up in your office. And why does everybody keep saying that to me?”

“Because you're supposed to be here when you're supposed to be here.”

“Doesn't seem to apply to you.”

“I'm not the topic of this conversation.” Thomas unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down at his desk. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his right ankle onto his left knee, his hands resting on his abdomen. “Now what'd you find me on McKernon Motors?”

“The board can't vote for at least 24 hours after the CEO presents a deal involving the sale of company land.”

“But Stensland already presented it to the board.”

“Right, but Stensland isn't CEO.”

Thomas paused, fixing Marcus with a cool stare. “I wrote those bylaws myself. He's CEO.”

“Hmm.” Marcus casually flipped open one of the blue folders he’d been carrying around all morning and loudly tapped his finger on the page. “Page 238, clause 137 states if the CEO dies, an interim CEO will be appointed until the board convenes an election vote, which can't be called till the next fiscal quarter.” He shut the folder and looked up at Thomas. “In this case next Thursday.”

“So they can't vote him in until Thursday?”

“Thursday.”

“Okay. Well, prepare the due diligence for me to take to Stensland,” he pointed a cautionary finger at Marcus. “But I don't want anything ready to sign.”

“Where are you going?” Marcus looked around, confused.

“Out. I have until Thursday to find a new CEO.”

“Huh.” Marcus frowned, shuffling his folders together and standing.

“What?” Thomas rolled his eyes.

“Oh, nothing. Uh, you know, just six hours, 1,500 pages, and I, uh, I found your mistake.” Marcus picked up the baseball off the coffee table and tossed it at Thomas, who caught it easily with one hand.

“Yeah,” Thomas sighed, placing the baseball back on its stand. “You found the one mistake I made while drafting those bylaws a dozen years ago when I was two years younger than you. A mistake, by the way, that's gonna help me get rid of Stensland.”

“ _Mistake_ ,” Marcus stage whispered loud enough for Thomas to hear him as he walked to the door, grinning like an idiot. As he walked out, Julia walked in with three different white cards, all different sizes and shades of white, with corresponding envelopes. She placed them on Thomas’s desk.

            “Thank you,” he nodded and reached out to take the cards, but she kept her hand on them. He looked up at her with a curious expression. “Yes?”

            “This isn’t your normal…deal.” Julia mussed. “This one’s different?”

            “ _This one_ is a favor to Bedelia. I’m to be her lab monkey for a while.”

            “You? A _lab monkey_?” She scoffed. “She must have a magical vagina. I thought you were the one who used _them_ to get what you needed, not the other way around.”

            Thomas gave her a dark glare, but the corner of his mouth quirked in amusement. “We’re both getting something that we need – me, sex; her, research. The more she’s kept happy, the more Bedelia is kept happy. And need I remind you just what Bedelia can do if she’s found in a favorable mood?”

            “Just…” She tapped the cards softly while she thought of what to say. “Just be careful, okay? Research is public, one way or another. Make sure your ass covered.”

            Thomas gave her a sincere nod. “If not, you will.”

            “Always,” she smiled on her way out the door. Thomas waited till she was back at her desk before reaching for his pen. He’s chosen a quote; a warning. He knew he had made the right choice, walking away from her before something they’d both regret happened. Not before they laid some necessary ground work.

            His warning was meant to be a reminder – that not all ‘menfolk’ were heroes, romantic or otherwise. She would need to understand that for their _research_ together.

_Why didn’t you tell me there was danger?_

_Why didn’t you warn me?_

_Ladies know what to guard against,_

_Because they read novels that tell them of these tricks_

           

He slipped the card into its envelope, writing Eleanor’s address on the cover. He didn’t have to look it up to know; he had memorized it since his initial meeting with her. Without needing to buzz the intercom, Thomas calmly said,

“Julia.” Outside the glass office walls, he watched her head pick up from her desk to look at him. “Come in here, please.”

She stood in the doorway a moment later, leaning into the office while holding herself against the frame and propping the heavy door open with her foot behind her. “Yes?”

“Have these packaged and sent by courier to the address on the envelope.” Thomas stood and walked the collection of books to Julia. He delicately placed them in her awaiting hands. “They’re to arrive by Friday. Not later than that evening.”

“Yes, sir,” she lifted her eyebrow but said nothing else about it. “I’ll find you replacements. First editions?”

“Yes,” Thomas nodded with a smile. She knew him too well.

**ASSOCIATES POOL**

            As Thomas strolled through the pool on the way to Marcus’s desk, an eager, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed associate hurried over to walk alongside Thomas. “Excuse me, Mr. Reagan? I was wondering if you might need a hand sometime with one of your matters. Uh, any one.”

“Well, Allen—“

“It's Aaron,” The associate interrupted, receiving a cool glare from Thomas and hushed, concerned looks from surrounding associates.

“I think that says it all, don't you?” Thomas left the associate behind and continued on the Marcus’s desk. There, Marcus had his ear phones in and was searching for restaurants on his computer. “What are you doing?”

Marcus quickly ripped his earphones out of his ears and rolled them up. “Uh, I'm looking for a restaurant. Where did you go for your rookie dinner?”

“I came into the league a sophomore. You better not be prioritizing that over McKernon Motors. I still need something to stall Stensland.”

“It's right here.” Marcus picked up a black, heavy file and put it back down. “What are you so irritated about?”

“I spent a day with a top headhunter I know who couldn't produce _one_ legitimate CEO candidate by Thursday.”

“What about that Dominic Barone guy who runs production? You said he was responsible for the engines, and he _clearly_ cares about the workers.”

“No,” Thomas shook his head. “He's not the guy.”

“Oh, I get it,” Marcus nodded, leaning back in his chair. “You're scared you can't convince him because he hates you.”

“Nice try.” Thomas pointed to the computer screen. “You know you can't host your dinner there. That's a Wachtell, Lipton, Klein restaurant.”

“Okay. Fine.” Marcus clicked on a new tab. “What about this place?”

“Yeah. That'd be great if it was 2004.”

Marcus sighed, scrubbing his face with his hand. “Oh, my God. Why does any of this matter?”

“You see that guy over there by the fax?” Thomas asked after a brief pause, nodding to the kid who approached him when he entered. “Take a good look. He's never gonna make partner.”

“Okay. Let me guess. Because he threw a lousy rookie dinner or because you don’t know his name?”

“No, because he doesn't get it.”

“Get _what_?”

“He doesn't _get_ that doing good work isn't the whole job. Part of _getting it_ is that things like the dinner actually matter, even when you don't think they do.” Thomas softened his tone, but kept a serious stare. “Look, you were giving me shit this morning because I come and go when I want to. You know why I can do that? Not because I own this place, but because when I got here, I _dominated_. They thought I worked 100 hours a day. _Now_? No matter what time I get in, nobody questions my ability to get the job done.”

“That and they’re all terrified of you.”

He tapped on the wall of the cubicle to make his point. “Get it through your head. First impressions _last_. You start behind the eight ball, you'll never get in front.”

**OFFICE OF DELPHINE LAURENT – 7pm**

          Marc tapped his knuckles on her window while he poked his head through Delphine’s open door. “Hey, you busy?”

“It is 7:00 o’clock. I am not ‘ere because I like ze view.” Marc checked his watched while he walked in and took a seat in an arm chair in front of her desk. “And do not misunderstand me. When I zay ‘ze view,’ I am referring to your face.”

Marc faked laughter. “That's funny, because I'm hideous.”

“What is up?” Delphine shuffled her papers and put them aside on her desk.

“You're a foodie, right?”

“Why do you zay that? Because I am French?”

“Because you're the only person I've ever seen order a shrimp, red pepper, and goat cheese pizza.”

“ _Oui_ , but wizout ze peppa, what connects ze goat cheese and ze shrimp?”

“Okay, so I need your help finding a restaurant for the rookie dinner.”

“That is unfortunate, Marcus, but I am… _comment dites-vous_? Swampy.” She picked up a folder from her desk and stood. “And I do not ‘ave time to teach you about cuisine.”

“Well, no,” Marc swiveled his neck around to follow her progression to the door. “Don't make me remind you that you owe me one.”

“’Ow is zat?”

“You told Louis I was working on Harvey's case before his.”

“Because you told me to.”

“Well, now I'm telling you to help me with my dinner.”

“Mm. You—“ She patted him on the shoulder as she walked out. “ _D_ _'accord_. Good luck wiz zat.”

**Night – FANCY REST.**

          When Thomas walked in, he knew exactly where to go. The Maître d' greeted him at the door, took his over coat, and even offered to walk him back to where his ‘associate’ was waiting. Thomas politely refused, telling him that he was just dropping in for a quick word.

Louis was sitting at a round table with Robert Stensland near the back of the restaurant. When Louis glanced up, he had to do a double take to make sure it was Thomas walking towards them. Louis made an excuse to Robert and quickly got out of his chair to meet Thomas halfway.

“Louis,” Thomas greeted with a fake smile oozing contempt. He held out his hand for Louis to take. When the rat-faced man did, mimicking Thomas’s fake smile, Thomas pulled him in, snapping quietly in his ear, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Uh, Stensland called.” Louis said through clenched teeth, trying not to gasp at the pressure Thomas was putting into his hand. “And apparently the diligence wasn't proceeding apace.”

“He called you?”

“Yeah, he called me, I called him, what's the difference?” Louis rushed. Thomas let go of his hand when the table nearest them was beginning to look over. Louis smiled at them as he discreetly shook the blood back into his hand. “The paperwork was taking too long, and I got it done.”

Thomas adjusted his suit jackets, and turned to face Robert, who was curiously staring at them from the table. Thomas smiled, nodded, and said to Louis out of the corner of his mouth, “I suggest you stay the hell away from my client.”

“Reagan,” Robert stood as Thomas approached, extending his hand. “Glad you could make it. We were about to sign the papers.”

“I got word back at the office. I just came to see how Louis was getting around the bylaws.”

“I...” Robert, appropriately stunned, looked over Thomas’s shoulder to where Louis was standing. “Don't know. Louis?”

“Ah...” Louis stammered, taking a step forward. “I'm at somewhat of a loss.”

Thomas sighed for effect, pinching the bridge of his nose in mock frustration. “Robert, I'm sorry. This is what was holding up your due diligence. _Technically_ , you're still interim CEO until the board votes you in on _Thursday_. If protocol isn't followed, it leaves you with _huge_ litigation exposure.”

“That's right,” Louis chimed in.

“Well,” Robert nodded slowly, looking from Louis to Thomas. “I imagine we should… _hold off_ , then.”

“Please don't blame Louis. It's my fault.” Thomas shook his head and made the self-deprecating gesture of touching his chest. “We usually have senior partners and above oversee transactions like this because junior partners, they tend to miss things.” Thomas held out his hand to shake Robert’s again. “See you Thursday?”

He turned his back on Robert to give Louis a meaningful look. His cherry tone indicated otherwise, “Okay. Take it easy.”

**OFFICE OF THOMAS REAGAN**

         Thomas carefully walked into his own office, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he did. Haley was leaning back in his desk chair, swiveling lightly back and forth, holding one of his prized baseballs. He question sounded innocent enough, but the deeper meaning did not escape Thomas.

“What's going on with Robert Stensland?”

Thomas chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets. “What did Wormtail tell you?”

“You're not dealing with Louis. You're dealing with me.” She stopped swiveling. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.” Thomas shook his head, pouting his bottom lip slightly, in an effort to be nonchalant. “I looked through the bylaws and precluded potential litigation.”

“Bullshit. You looked at the bylaws for a tactical reason, Thomas, and I want to know what it is.”

Thomas held her gaze for a long moment as he walked around the desk to sit on the edge beside her crossed legs. He gently brushed his knuckles over her knee before placing his hands in his lap. “I want him out, Haley.”

“That is not your call.” She pointed her finger at him, the ball still in her palm. “You are an attorney. This is the internal business of McKernon Motors.”

“McKernon had a plan, and I did not spend a decade shaping it to let this fool throw it away.”

“McKernon is dead, Thomas. I don’t think he cares.”

“So what? Doesn't mean the plan's no good.”

“You fail, _we'll_ get fired.”

“He moves overseas, our billables will be gone in five years, anyway.”

“Better five years than nothing.”

“You know what? That's Stensland's attitude, and it's a losing one.”

“Tommy,” Haley uncrossed her legs and reached over to place the ball back onto its stand. “I don't think you have any business telling that man how to run his company-”

“Just as I don't have any business running mine?” Thomas knew the moment he raised his voice to her, he was making a mistake.

“ _Our_ company, you arrogant asshole!” She stood up, towering over him. “Ours, yours and _mine_! You are not a gunslinger anymore, Thomas. _Back off_ Stensland and close the damn deal.”


End file.
